Infection
by okh-eshivar
Summary: Two days after the Endurance crew is rescued, Lara finally succumbs to her death defying injuries. Sam tries desperately to help her recover, all the while battling her own climbing feelings for her best friend.
1. Chapter 1

_I'm an eighteen-wheeler driving down the interstate,_

_And my brakes are gonna give, and I won't know until it's too late_

_Tires screaming as I lose control_

_Try not to hurt too many people when I roll_

_I am an airplane tumbling wing over wing_

_Try to listen to my instruments, they don't say anything_

_People screaming as the engines quit _

_I hope we're all in crash position as we hit_

And you were a presence full of light upon this earth  
And I am a witness to your life and to it's worth  
It's three days later when I get the call  
And there's nobody around to break my fall

It has been two days since we were rescued. And you are just now falling head first into your own Hell.

The bed is thin, but comfortable enough, especially after a week of little sleep, and constant fear, and sleeping in cages and on rocks and shivering until your muscles spasm painfully. I burrow deeper into the thick comforter you had dug out of a random closet on the captain's bridge for me earlier, and breathe in deeply. I find myself wishing the slightly mouldering fabric smelled of you, that scent I had been utterly surrounded with when you carried me gingerly down from the shrine. I quickly shake my head and try to avert my thoughts.

Stop it, Sam. Weird thoughts. Just stop.

The bed, though welcoming, is incredibly, horribly, uncomfortably lonely. I reach out, draping my arm over the pillow I'd been clutching to my chest for some semblance of companionship. After Yamatai, being alone anywhere is anxiety inducing, even in a relatively safe environment, and every time the ship creaks, or someone slams a door elsewhere, I find myself struggling to catch my breath.

And I remember how strong you were in that place. I watched you jump over a lake of fucking fire for me, endured being beaten into a bloody pump for me, killed for me. I heard you screaming my name at the shrine and I couldn't even believe my ears; I thought I had hallucinated it, but then I saw you explode from the underbrush, covered head to toe in blood and wounds and grit, and heard you scream it again. There was such fire in your eyes, such bloodthirsty determination. I felt safe under your gaze. I knew you'd rescue me; even at the edge with my soul fighting to stay inside my flesh I knew.

And when I woke in your arms, it was the only place I wanted to be. Thinking of it creates a warm bubble of clarity in my chest.

Again I flinch into the covers and bury my head, embarrassed in my own company. _Stop thinking like that! She's your best friend, and she just happens to be the person who saved your life. Twice. That's it! Of course you're thinking like this, isn't it human nature? Knight in shining armor comes around and rescues the damsel, and she immediately falls in love with him…Wait what?! _I make a frustrated, high sound into the pillow as I push my face deeper into it. _I'm not 'in love' with her! Jesus Christ, what the fucking hell is wrong with me?!_

I don't relax again for a long while, in the meantime taking the pillow in both hands and crushing it into the top of my head. After five or so minutes, I give up on laying down and sit, hugging my legs to my chest. I don't want to be alone. I contemplate going to the bridge; Jonah and Reyes have been up for a while, I could make some coffee and talk with them.

My insides drop at the thought of it, and no comfort came from the thought of enduring under Josilin's scrutinizing gaze; and although Jonah was good company, he wasn't the person I wanted to see.

_Lara._ I think. _I want to see Lara. _Your calm, gentle face passes behind my eyes and I smile subconsciously. Before I can think about it anymore, I'm on my feet and headed for the locked door, stumbling slightly in the dark. I've got one foot in the hallway when I realize I don't have pants on.

Whatever. No one's gonna be in this section of the boat at this hour anyway. The only rooms back here are hers and mine.

The waves rock the vessel, though my sea legs have improved since you taught me how to move with the boat rather than against it. A smile twitches at the corners of my lips again; it disappears when I realize how terrifyingly dark the length of the hall is. I press a hand into the wall and walk along with it, keeping my eyes on the floor. Anything could be in that darkness. Wolves, bears, a clan of crazy cultists with machine guns and fire arrows.

My breath is becoming ragged seconds later, my legs shaking, and I'm desperately clawing at the cold steel as if I could scale the side if something suddenly lunched from the black abyss.

"It's just the fucking dark. Nothing is there, just walk forward," I grit through my teeth, pounding heart echoing through my entire trembling body. It seems like hours when I finally get to your room, and I'm so relieved I nearly fall into the open door.

"Lara?" I murmur quietly, making my way to your low bed. You aren't there, but the sheets are tangled up on the floor, and there is a dark, shadowy shape spread on the off white sheets. Curious, and a bit worried, I tug the cord for the lamp bolted to the wall near the head of the cot. Light floods in, and I inhale sharply when the shadow turns out to be a large blood stain, still damp.

"Lara?" I can hear panic enter my voice, hot adrenaline shocking my nervous system. You're hurt. Of course you're hurt. But you're bleeding. Still bleeding. That can't possibly be a good thing. I throw my focus over the entirety of the small room, and notice a thin light coming from the cramped bathroom in the corner. My worry was crippling, and normally I wouldn't just barge in, but goddamm it I'd be relieved if you were just peeing and not collapsed on the floor in a puddle of your own blood.

The smell of acid and antibacterial solution hit me at once, and I winged back before catching sight of you. You're curled up on the floor, arms reaching up to clutch the rim of the toilet and shirt pulled off, discarded in the metal sink. I can't see your face, it's pressed between your folded knees, and I wish I could, because my heart is in my throat.

"Lara, sweetie? Are you okay? What's the matter?" I dive to your side, planting a flat palm against the small of your back and pushing the fringe of your bangs behind your ear. You moan in a way that makes my blood run cold.

"S…Sam…?" you slur, lifting your head out of your legs it meet my gaze for just a moment. I gasp; your eyes are badly bloodshot and your soft face is pale, far too pale for the sun you'd gotten on Yamatai. "I…I don't feel…"

"Shh, don't talk, sweetie. It's okay," I coo quietly, casting what I intended to be a cursory glance over your exposed back. My breath caught instantaneously; what had once been a smooth expanse of planed flesh was now a labyrinth of slices and hematomas. Puckering, obviously painful openings cross hatched with hundreds if smaller, shallower scrapes and skins, and every single one of them looked like they were on fire. But they weren't what worried me the most.

To the right of my fanned fingers a wide, gaping hole the size of a half-dollar raged, mouth enflamed with angry reds and a dust of infected purple flesh. It was weeping a clear, foul smelling fluid that made my nose curl.

"Ho, Jesus, sweetie. Your back is…I think your back is really infected." I make a real effort not to look in the toilet, as I'm already sure you've exhausted yourself emptying your stomach into it. "How long have you been like this?"

"Ah…I…Hours?" You so weak, and I feel my heart crack. Hours? I look to the digital alarm clock in the other room; it reads 2:30 am. Guilt pools up the back of my throat indiscriminately.

Another pained moan interrupts my moment of self-loathing, and I take you into my arms affectionately, gently. Your tight, knotted muscles seem to relax under my touch, and I enjoy the notion of it a bit too much. Your right hand laced under your right to clutch my arm tightly, the way a woman giving birth clutches her husband.

"S-Sam…"

"It's alright, just get it out of your system. I'll go and get Jonah, he'll know more about what to do about this." I move to stand, but your iron grip keeps me from rising.

"N-No…Please don't…leave me alone…" And my heart breaks a little more as you lift yourself just enough to vomit again. I take your hair into my hands and hold it back, massaging the line of your spine. I push the clasp of your bra down slightly, pulling it from a particularly painful looking gash, and my insides flutter a bit.

_Oh my god, Lara's violently throwing up and I'm busy thinking about taking her clothes off._ I'm glad your eyes are closed or you might see how red my face felt. I flash back to all of those times you comforted me in our dorm after I partied a little too hard. You'd always tease me later, and I'd stick my tongue out at you and tackle you in the middle of the campus. You always blushed like mad, and people would stare at us and whisper but neither of us paid them any mind.

After another ten minutes of horrid gagging and dry heaves, you slump over on the floor, about to turn over on your side. With eyes already falling closed, the exhaustion begins to settle over your features.

"Hey, hey, hey. You can't sleep in here, sweetheart. Come on, I'll help you into bed."

"No…" You flinch away when I try to pull you upwards. Your throat sounds dry and cracked, and I can already tell the purging has left you severely dehydrated. "It hurts…don't make me stand…" You sound like you're on the verge of tears. I can't stand it. So instead, I smile at you as warmly as I can, though I'm almost sure you can see the water gathering in my eyes, and rise.

"Sam…"

"I'm going to clean that huge wound on your back. It's okay, I'm not going anywhere." I swipe a small hand towel from the dole and soak it, forgetting to move your shirt and not particularly caring much. Being even a foot from you at this moment is extremely disagreeable, and when I return to you I'm soothed inwardly a great deal.

"Come here, put your head on my lap." You oblige, slowly and shakily resting your temple perpendicular to my folded thighs with your back towards me. I place my free hand against your burning forehead and stroke your hair back tenderly, attempting to relax you a bit more. The wound is still oozing, the clear fluid now more clearly a disturbing brown and red tinge. Holding my breath in anticipation for your pain, I press the cloth to the wound firmly.

Your cry is full of gut wrenching agony. Fingernails clutch into my thigh sharply, though I hardly notice it.

"I know, sweetie. I know. Just a little bit more, okay?" I grab my bottom lip between my teeth, holding in selfish tears, and press harder, forcing the infect fluid to pour from the mouth of it. I feel wetness falling from your eyes onto my chilled skin.

When I lift the towel, its face is coated in a film of blood and ooze. I toss it up into the sink and very gingerly lay a finger a half-inch away from the infected flesh. It ignites beneath my touch, far too hot. Your entire body is curled up around my legs, twisted in the form of an injured cat searching desperately for warmth. You whimper into my thighs quietly.

Taking care to avoid your injuries (an endeavor that turns out to be heart breakingly impossible, since every square inch of you is covered in them), I turn you over, take your shoulders and wrap my arms around them, pressing you into my chest. My fingers find themselves curling into your chocolate hair, my nose burying into the top of your head.

My breath trips in my throat when your hands crawl over my waist, wrapping around and coming up to clutch the cloth between my shoulder blades.

"I'm…I'm sorry, Lara…" I choke on the tears that refuse to stay in my eyes. This is because of me. You're like this, hurt and bleeding and breaking because I was too goddamn stupid to see the madness in Mathias' eyes, to hear the conniving inflection in Whitman's voice, to keep myself hidden and out of the way. I want to say more, I want to tell you how important you are to me, how much I loved the time we spent together in University, how my chest had bloomed with pride and shock and relief when you came to save me, over and again.

How you always meant more to me than the guys I dated. I did tell you that, once. It was a statement filled with emotional laughter at the time, and you just gaped at me before erupting into a giggling fit. I couldn't help but follow suit. It wasn't meant to be a confession, and it wasn't, but it was one of the biggest truths I had ever told you.

_You totally mean more to me than some boyfriend, Lara!_

_Wha- Oh god, you're so weird. Don't let Jake hear you say that, Sam._

_To hell with him, I'd rather grow old and die in this dorm with my best friend than move in with him!_

_Sam! _

But all my stuttering tongue will croak is that flat, wholly meaningless phrase. I'm sorry. Oh god, I'm so sorry.

You go still in my arms. Too still, considering just a moment ago you were shaking so hard it vibrated us both. I loosen my grip, only slightly, and I realize your form is completely limp in my grasp.

Panic like I have never experienced invades all of my senses, filling me with searing lava. A hundred thousand butterflies flap violently in my gut, swimming into my throat, into my blood.

"Lara?" I lift your chin up to get a look at your face. Eyes closed, lips parted barely. Your chest isn't rising and falling to way it should be. "Oh shit- Lara!" I shake you, probably harder than I should, and start to sob when you don't respond.

"Lara! Lara, wake up!" I lay you on your back on the bathroom floor and loom over you, an ear pressed to your chest. I can't hear anything; that heartbeat I had fallen asleep listening to those times something had compelled us to share a bed, it wasn't there.

I'm paralyzed. My legs are going numb with the blunt pain of anxiety. My head is light, and I don't waste effort trying to steep my now hysterical tears. Help. I need to get help.

I take off into the hallway and start screaming, hoping someone, anyone will hear.

"Jonah! Reyes! Please, I need help!" I continue as I run down the steel corridors, stumbling, falling once, rising. "Please, anyone!" I reach the stairs leading to the bridge, nearly out of breath but pushed forward by pure adrenaline. The lights are still on when I ascend the last flight, nearly breaking the door down with my momentum. Reyes and Jonah are sitting at the dining area, speaking in hushed tones about something I frankly don't give a shit about.

"Hey!," I yelled angrily, desperately. They both look to me in a startled manner, jumping out of their seats when they see the state I'm in.

"Sammie! What is the matter?" Jonah moves quickly to me, Reyes trailing behind. I grab his arm, tugging him quickly into the stairway.

"It's Lara, something's wrong. She…" I feel my throat constrict around the words, "She's sick, and she's not breathing, and her heart-" I stop myself, opting rather to continue dragging him in her direction. "Come on! We have to hurry!"

"Wait, Sam! What the hell is going on?" Reyes questions, grabbing me by the shoulder. Anger bubbles inside me.

"We're wasting time!" I snap, taking off down the flights. The hallway is just as dark as before, but I charge blindly forward into the pitch. The light of your room is still there, sending a beacon into the corridor. I look over my shoulder to make sure they're still behind me. They are, and I'm satisfied to see them both running to keep up.

I trip into the room, catching myself deftly and scittering into the bathroom. "In here!"

You're laying just as I left you. I pull you into my lap and place a hand over your mouth, searching for the warmth of breath. Jonah enters and dives down next to me, shock and worry flooding his soft features. "I…I just came to check on her…" I hold your face protectively to my chest.

Reyes stands at the doorway, apparently observing the scene. But even she inhales sharply at the wrecked state of you.

"Little Bird, can you hear me?" he murmurs, touching a palm to your forehead. You don't make a sound, but he flinches at how hot you are.

"I-I think the wound in her back got infected…it looks really bad…"

"We need to cool her down," he says firmly. "Josilin, fill the tub with cold water, please."

She nods immediately, stepping in the cramped room and pushing the rubber curtain back on the shower. The dials are nearly rusted still, but she manages to force the cold-water knob free. It takes six agonizing minutes to fill it, and when Jonah lowers your shockingly lax body into the water, a cloud of grit surrounds you almost immediately.

"I don't think she s-showered yet…S-said it hurt too bad…" I wipe my cheeks for the first time and feel perfectly useless.

"She'll be okay, Sammie. She's got a heartbeat."

I perk up. "She does? Are you sure?"

"It's slow, but strong. I believe her body is using all of her available energy to attack this infection."

"Oh god," I breath, putting my forehead down on the floor. It's a small mercy. "I…I thought she was already…" I bite my lips together. Don't say it. Don't jinx it. With uncalculated effort, I drag myself to the edge of the tub and shut off the water before it crawls over your face. Carefully, I remove your right hand from the freezing water and hold it tightly in my own, pressing my lips and chin to your knuckles.

"She's a strong girl," Reyes says unexpectedly as she plants a hand on my shoulder, softer this time. "She'll make it through this. I don't think anything could keep her down for long."

"It must be Yamatai, finally catching up with her," Jonah breaths quietly. Reyes seems to nod in agreement, somewhat solemn. "Listen closely, Sammie. Josilin and I will be right out in the hallway, okay? Leave her in the water for another five minutes, then take her out and change her clothes." He gestures at Reyes to retrieve fresh clothing from the bridge, who obliges. "Her worst wounds need to be covered. We don't have a lot of first aid on this ship, but I think you can improvise. Call for us if you need us, okay?" He pulls me in a tight hug, and I can't help but cling to him. "She needs you, not us, you understand?"

"But I…Christ, I practically did this to her!"

He pulls away then, face very serious. "Sammie, I know you feel that your being kidnapped is some cause for her injuries, but please don't think in that way, and don't say that to her when she wakes up. Just…comfort her. She's no doubt in tremendous pain."

"Okay," I murmur, looking to the ground and feeling more selfish than ever. He smiles sympathetically and stands, taking one long, last glance at you.

"You mean so much to her, Sammie. I promise, she's so glad she was able to save you. I suspect…If she hadn't, she wouldn't have made it back to us."

My eyes widen into his back as he walks out. My hands return to you after a quick moment of contemplation, lacing our fingers together and bringing your head closer, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

Carefully, I take another hand towel from the floor and dip it into the tub. Your face is still decorated with dried blood and dirt, as is the rest of you. My striations are gentle and soft, tracing the lines of your beautiful features, your small nose, your full lips, your closed eyes, until all that's left is the hardened scabs and straight cuts I can't erase.

"Oh Lara, your complexion…" I called it perfect once, another feature of yours I was a bit jealous of. And despite the various scrapes decorating it now, you're still breathtakingly beautiful.

After the five minutes pass, in which time you begin breathing much more steadily, Reyes re-enters with a bundle of clean clothes as I'm about to struggle to get your body from the high tub.

"You need help with that?" she calls in. I nod, aware of my lack of upper body strength, and to my surprise she steps into the ice water and lifts you at the waist. "Hold her head, I'll hoist her out."

Once we get you back on the floor, she shakes the cold water from herself and kneels beside you. She feels the area just below your ears on both sides, her brow knotting slightly as she went.

"What is it?"

"Her lymph nodes are swollen. Means her immune system's getting kicked into overdrive."

"That sounds bad," I wince.

"Well, it means she's fighting it, whatever it is. Which is a good thing." She looks you over with a hard sigh. "Shit, I didn't realize she was this banged up." We're quiet for a moment as I watch your chest rise and fall, relieved by the movement. Without thinking, or rather ignoring the opportunity to become self-conscious, I caress the back of your hand and bring it to my mouth again, smiling silently into the cooled, smooth skin. I feel Reyes' curious glance, but I'm hardly bothered by it.

She clears her throat somewhat awkwardly and gestures at the door. "I'll be outside with Jonah if you need anymore help, alright?"

"Yeah, thanks. I really appreciate it."

It's a struggle getting your wet clothes off you, the fabric sticking rebelliously in every way it could. I strip you down to your bra and underwear, and beat into my subconscious when I hit a mental block continuing.

_You've seen her naked before, sharing a dorm and a bathroom. This isn't any different. _Except it is different, really different, and I'm scared of why that is. Pacing myself, I reach behind you to pull at the clasp of you bra, snapping it open easily. Okay. I unfold the clean, plain t-shirt from the pile, preparing it, and pull the soaked fabric from your chest with averted eyes. Okay okay okay. Okay.

With clumsy fingers, I pull your head through the top of the shirt and, one by one, pull your arms through. Somehow, I managed to keep my eyes to myself. I double check the pile to make sure Reyes hadn't found a bra, and I breath a sigh of relief when I don't find one. That would've been a struggle.

You mutter through your sleep, and my head shoots up at the sound.

"Lara? You there, sweetie?" The pet name tastes different on my tongue than usual. Sweetie. Your eyes flutter a bit and my chest bursts with thanks.

"Sam…" you whisper, voice hoarse. I cradle your face in my hands with a smile, lifting your head back into my lap. Your hair is damp, but I don't care much.

"Hey, sleeping beauty," I joke, stroking your cheek with my thumb. "I thought I was gonna have to kiss you to wake you up." A grin pulls at the corner of your lips, and I bask in it gratefully.

"How are you feeling?"

"Uhn…Empty…" It was a bit cryptic, but I assume you were referring to your nearly barfing out all of your innards earlier. "Tired…" You bury your head in my abdomen, using an arm behind my back to pull me closer. I can feel your breath through my shirt, graciously, wonderfully warm, and I can't help but pull you closer. Earlier I had been so scared I'd lost you, not even the fear I'd experienced in Yamatai could compare to it.

"Looks like the cold bath did the trick," I muse. "I'm so glad you're awake. You scared the shit out of me, you know."

You moan quietly onto my muscles in response and I can barely repress the shudder it invokes. "You're soft," you murmur faintly.

"And you're delusional," I chuckle quietly, bending my back over you and, without thinking, placing a soft kiss between your shoulder blades. It takes a second for me to realize what I just did.

Thankfully your eyes are closed when I pick my head up with a hand over my mouth, ready to let loose a string of apologies. Your chest rises and falls against my thighs in a steady rhythm. Asleep, already? You look so much more peaceful than you did earlier, and watching you, with your nose buried in my stomach, sends an enormous surge of affection into my chest.

"Rest up, love," I whisper, brushing your fringe back and kissing your temple gingerly, this time with little regret.

"Hm?" You open your eyes and look up at me.

"Wha-" I stutter, a blush ghosting over my cheeks quickly. "You're awake?"

"Love?" you hum absently. "You've never…called me that before…"

"You were supposed to be asleep, dummy." If I weren't afraid it'd hurt you, I'd have punched you right in the shoulder.

"You've called me _that_ before, though…"

Your semi-asleep retorts make me smile quite broadly. "Well, since you're awake, can you put some clean pants on for me?" I wave the pants in front of you for effect.

"But…I'm not wearing pants…" You look yourself over weakly, confirming that you aren't, in fact, wearing pants.

"That's because I already took them off for you, Lara."

"You took off my pants?" The look on your face makes me giggle despite myself.

"Hey, what's that expression?"

"You're trying…to seduce me…aren't you?" I gape at you for a moment. You smile playfully, impossibly, and I laugh.

"Oh, definitely. Has anyone ever told you how sexy you look throwing up? I was like, 'Dayum, I should have infected that wound sooner'." You chuckle endearingly into my abdomen. It's such a sweet sound, after everything that's happened.

"And the whole passing out and nearly dying thing? Huooof, you gotta try that in a club some time. Seriously, the hottest thing I've ever seen." I make myself laugh with that one, the mental image it brings too ridiculous for words. You join me, and my heart sings for it.

"S-Sam, stop it, it hurts," you stutter out between giggles. I calm down and wipe the new tears from my eyes.

"Okay, okay. But if you don't want to put on pants, can you at least change your underwear yourself?" I take a pair of black underwear from the floor and hand them to you.

"It's pronounced 'knickers', Sam."

"Actually it's pronounced, 'Put them on so we can go to sleep'," I retort slyly, grinning down at you.

"Fine," you pout. "Close your eyes."

I slap my hands over my face, covering them. "Yes, mistress."

I feel you struggle with the wet fabric for a moment, and when it ceases the niggling thought of peaking between my fingers nearly takes over.

"Okay."

"All set?"

"If you don't have to wear pants, neither do I," you pout again, poking at my thigh with your index finger. I had forgotten I wasn't wearing pants.

"Of course, sweetie."

"Can we go to bed now?"

"Jonah said I should bandage you up a bit first."

You moan in an exasperatedly cute way. "I'm tired."

"I know."

"Can we go to bed, now?" The repeated dialogue worries me a bit, so I concede to the demand.

"Yes," I breathe, bringing your face up to burrow into my neck and placing a quick peck on your cheek. I caress the side of your face, trailing fingers from your cheekbone to your clavicle.

"Will you…stay with me…?"

I pause, questioning, wondering, and finally smiling into your hair. Even after all this, you still manage to make me smile and laugh. You're amazing. You're wonderful and beautiful and innocently charming and…and I…

"Of course, sweetie. Of course I will." I feel you smile weakly. Slowly, I help lift you to your feet, your arm slung over my shoulder. You're very unsteady and I'm barely able to stop you from pitching forward.

Before I lay you down I pull the bloody sheets off the thin mattress and adjust the sheet so it functioned like a new one. I sit you down first, then gingerly lean your head back on the pillow. You make a strained expression upon pulling your legs up onto the surface.

"Okay? You comfortable, sweetie?" I coo, brushing your hair from your face.

"Lay down…" you whisper, pushing yourself into the wall to make space. I'm ready to oblige when I remember Reyes and Jonah waiting outside.

After dismissing them thankfully, I lay down next to you. Your arm snakes around my waist, pulling me closer, and I lose myself in your raw scent.

"Sam…I'm so glad…you're alright…"

"Yeah…" I hide my face in the crook of your neck guiltily. "I'm fine, but you're a total mess. I'm afraid of the dark now, by the way."

"I am, too. I…don't feel right…being away from you," your voice is raspy, but somehow soft.

"You get anxious?" You nod. "Yeah, me too." I pause. "I'm gonna clean you up in the morning, okay?"

You nod into the top of my head and sigh.

Sleep comes surprisingly, wonderfully easy in your arms.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

"So, those two…" Reyes tapped the tips of her toes against the metal floor curiously, the backs of her shoulders leaned into the wall behind her.

Jonah looked up from his hands, having memorized every dip and crease in his palms over the last ten minutes, and responded with a quiet, "Hm?"

"Lara and Sam, they're…friends…" She crossed her index and middle finger together ambiguously. "Friends…like…"

Jonah cocked and eyebrow, paused, and chuckled deeply. "Are you gossiping, Josilin?" he teased. "That's rather uncharacteristic of you."

She waved a hand dismissively. "Seeing Lara like that, Christ. I had no idea she was that hurt. I mean, I saw the blood, but I guess she had a brave face on the whole time. Tricked us all into thinking she was alright."

"Tricked? That's a rather negative word for it."

"Sorry," she sighed. "That was unnecessary. Guess I'm still wound up from everything that's happened."

They fell quiet for unmeasured minutes before Jonah spoke up again. "How are they doing in there? Has Lara come to?"

"Not yet," Reyes breathed, letting her back slide down the length of the steel until she was sitting opposite to Jonah on the cold floor. She crossed legs and propped her elbows up on her knees, leaning over tiredly. "It doesn't make sense. We saw her leave for the shrine. Even then, she was scaling rock cliffs and sprinting like nothing was wrong, like she was barely hurt. Why now? And the day we got rescued…" They stopped to recall that day; two steps onto the boat, Lara had fallen to her knees and collapsed in a heap on the entrance ramp. Sam had nearly jumped over the rails to get to her, and when she got back to her feet she forced a smile and told them she was okay, just exhausted. It was, in compared to everything that had happened over the last week, a small event. Nothing particularly surprising.

But after witnessing Lara's state currently, Reyes ran a hand through her thick hair and silently cursed herself. She'd pushed her hard, been on her back every second she got the opportunity because, just like everyone else there, she wanted to get the hell off that island before it killed all of them. She hadn't asked if she was injured, and after Roth…Jesus.

"I…ugh," she moaned, pushing her hands against her forehead. She didn't want to linger on Roth, didn't want to talk about it.

"You know she'd go back in time if she could. She would have taken that axe if it meant keeping Roth alive," Jonah said, softly but firmly.

"Big words." She had to stop herself from hissing the words. Lara didn't deserve any more shit, but statements like that made her ears ring.

"It's true, Josilin. She took bullets, literal and figurative bullets, for all of us. We've suffered loses, but without her running around acting as a human shield, charging head first into that shrine, none of us would have made it."

"Alright, alright," she shooed. "I feel guilty enough, thanks. Let's talk about something else."

"Like your odd curiosity regarding Sam and Lara's…"-he raised his hands in air quotes- "Relationship?"

Her dark skintone, masked by the darkness of the hallway, made it difficult to tell that his bringing the topic back up seemed to fluster her a bit. Difficult, but not impossible.

"Just forget about it. It's a stupid thing to bring up."

"So what," he said lightheartedly. "Let's discuss something stupid. Maybe we both need it."

She paused, and smiled in a small way at the notion. After a second, she lifted her head and rested it on the wall. "Fine, let's gossip. So, what do you know about them?" She emphasized 'them'.

"Well, they met in their first year of college. I think they dormed together, and became fast friends. Which seemed a bit odd considering they couldn't be more different."

"Seems like the knight and the damsel. Or Rambo and Princess Peach."

Jonah chuckled heartily. "Something like that. Back then, it was probably something more like the Bookworm and the Party Girl."

"No kidding."

"Yes, Lara had always had an obsession with knowledge, discovery. Sam…well, she took things a lot less seriously. Her filming, _that_ she took seriously. Lara was like an exotic animal to her. Especially regarding her yearning for exploits."

Reyes shook a hand in the air for a moment, halting him. "Wait, wait, wait. How do you know all this? I thought you met them through the expedition."

"We'd been in contact a couple of months beforehand, discussing the expedition and the particulars. Sam liked to talk about her, like a proud mother. She'd fawn over her; every time she pointed the webcam in Lara's direction she'd have her nose buried in some rare book, notepad in hand." He chuckled at the memory, now hazily distant.

"Fawn over her, huh? Sounds like more than a friendship to me. They were very…touchy on Yamatai, too."

"Does that bother you?" There is no accusation in his tone, but she knew what he was alluding to.

"Nah. I mean, I guess I'm a little old fashioned. But damn, if you're into that, it's your own business. Ain't affecting me at all, why should I stick my nose where is doesn't belong?" she shrugged, pulling absently at the strings of her gray, unzipped sweatshirt.

Jonah grinned knowingly. "They were very close before all of this. Attached-at-the-hip close. Did you see something in there that struck you as so?"

"Yeah. Sam…" She felt awkward talking of others in such a way. But even the odd discomfort was a welcome distraction from her thoughts. "I don't know, I probably read too far into it. She just kissed her hand and looked at her a certain way."

Jonah mulled over the information with a loose smile. "Perhaps Sammie has realized something after Lara rescued her?"

"Maybe." She thought, and smiled, and clamped at hand over her eyes with a bark of a laugh.

"What?"

"Goddamn. You know what I just thought?" Reyes chuckled, and let out an audible, high exhale. "I just thought that they're kind of a cute couple."

Jonah grinned, and was about to respond when the door to Lara's room cracked open.

"You guys still out here?" A quiet voice, no longer muttled by sorrowful tears.

"Sammie," Jonah breathed with relief. "Is she alright?"

"Yeah, she's awake now…Not for long though. Her breathing's steady, but I think she's a little out of it, so I'm staying here with her tonight. Make sure she doesn't…" A vague hand gesture. "You know."

"Of course, Sammie."

"Thanks so much for your help guys." A deliberate, gracious gaze to Reyes followed, and a warm smile. "Really, I don't know what I would've done if you weren't at the Bridge. Thank you."

"No problem. If you have any more upsets, you know. Just start screaming and running around like last time and we'll find you."

The chuckle that follows is relieving. "I will. Goodnight, guys."

"'Night. Stay safe."


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you for all the wonderful feedback, guys :) I'll do my best to update often!

I don't close my eyes expecting to sleep through the night, considering the events of last night, combined with the mentally crippling after effects of the island. But miraculously, white light is flooding through the porthole above us when I finally manage to pry my eyelids apart, sleep fluttering from them hazily.

At first, I don't recall where I am. My heart plummets into anxiety for a moment before I feel an arm around my waist tighten, and a soft exhale blow warm breath against the back of my neck. I can't suppress the embarrassing grin that crawls lazily over my face; you've never been clingy in bed before. Every other time we'd shared such intimate space it'd always been my limbs spread oddly over your body, which I'd always blame on my being a rather active sleeper. But cuddling?

Wait, no. You'd cuddled me before, the night after I'd broken up with a boyfriend in junior year. Jake. He was a nice guy, which made me feel insanely guilty when I cut it off with him; he just wasn't what I was looking for. But my mind wouldn't accept it. I felt like I'd played him, or used him as a distraction from something, and it wasn't fair at all for such a nice guy to be bullshat like that. I barged in the dorm that night, stomped over to you, and- oh, _jesus_. I smacked the book you were analyzing right out of your hand angrily, like I was getting ready to unleash all my frustration out on you. But then you looked at me in that way, with those impossibly soft eyes, and I completely crumbled into a puddle of tears and mush right then and there. You listened to every backwards explanation, every barely understandable word, every sob and sniffle and bark in anger I had to spill.

And when I was finally, pathetically done, you stood up from the kitchen table, took your book from the floor and closed it patiently. Then, without a single question, a single word, you took me by the hand gingerly, led me to our bedroom and crawled into my bunk with me in your arms. I must have cried for hours into your chest, and the last thing I thought…

I didn't care about who my boyfriend would be, or my other friends, or my job or school or anything else other than the fact that there's no one else's arms I'd rather be in.

I wanted you in my life, forever.

I had no clear idea what that meant, and I didn't care. That was the first time I lingered on your scent, how soothing your tealeaf shampoo could be with my nose buried in your hair, how warm your hands were.

Quietly, I sit up and twist over to face you. I wasn't prepared to meet your eyes open.

"Hey," I whisper, grin still plastered on my face. It seemed so intimate a gesture, like greeting a lover upon waking. _Stop-Stop it, Saaaam. That is NOT okay. _"How are you feeling, sweetie?"

You make a low sound in your throat in response and smile in a small way. "Like a bloody mess," you say hoarsely. I cup your forehead and frown at the results.

"You're still burning up." I stand carefully and remove the blanket from you to examine your wound. "Can you stand?"

"I'd rather not," you breathe.

"I know," I reason delicately, stroking your fringe back from your eyes. "But I really want you to shower. All that leftover grime can't be comfortable, and your wounds need to be flushed." I lean in, and take you by the shoulder in a guiding motion. "I'll be here to help you, don't worry."

You take hold of my shoulders for counter balance and hoist yourself into standing position, groaning loudly as your entire body protests the motion. I wince at the sound, which breaks into short gasps and quiet moans as you steady yourself upright.

"Okay, just like last night." I sling your left arm over my shoulders and brace myself for your sway, praying that the ship doesn't pitch unexpectedly; part of me thinks you'd break like glass if you took a fall in your condition.

It's an arduous process getting into the bathroom, but you power through it the best you can, and I admire you for it.

"Can you…can you lift your arms up?"

You test yourself as you lean against the metal sink, and force them over your head with a pained expression. "Barely, but…I can't bend them like this…" You tried the motion out and bit your lip when it pulled at the rageful flesh at your side.

"That's okay," I hush you, not wanting you to think I'd leave you high and dry. "I'll get it…" I take hold of the hem of your t-shirt, and the quiver of butterfly wings warp in my stomach. I hesitate for just a moment, a moment too long, and to keep you none the wiser I fake a cough and gingerly tug the garment over your rippled abdomen. One motion, no big-

I nearly choke when the material snags rebelliously beneath the shelf of your chest and refuses to budge. "U-Um…" I stutter, red creeping over my nose.

"…Maybe…I can…" You try to grab for it, but wince sharply back.

"No, wait. This is no biggie. Just…" With the insects in my chest moving steadily, frustratingly lower, I bunch the fabric on both sides until my fingers align with your ribcage and I pull. A violent shock of electricity volts from my heart outwards as my fingertips brush the sides of your breasts. Before the high noise in my throat can escape I tug it over your arms, spin away on my toes and come very close to falling head first into the tub in what is easily the clumsiest, dumbest looking thing I've ever done.

"Woo, okay, then! Easy like Sunday morning, right?" I keep my face turned away from you until the heat drains from it, bracing myself on the wall with my toes pressed against the corner of the bath and the floor. "Um, is your side okay?"

"I…yes." The simple answer unnerves me. _Oh my god, I'm such a fucking idiot. I just made myself look like a total putz in front of Lara._ _Hooo shit, I'm never gonna live this-_

A sweet sound murmurs out from behind me, and a turn to find you holding your mouth with elbows bent over your breasts, chuckling through your fingers. "Oh, _Sam_," you choke, smiling broadly, brow knit in the humor of it.

I grin and pace back to you, running a hair over the back of my head. "Ah, so that definitely wasn't the smoothest thing I've ever done, huh?"

You simply give me that look, with a pair of vibrantly smiling eyes, and lean a bit harder against the sink. I can hardly tear myself from those hazel orbs; we lock eyes silently, and I can't help but admire you. You lower your gaze, still smiling vaguely, and cross your arms consciously over your chest.

It takes some effort to turn the water on, but I manage to break through the rust on the hot water knob. After pulling the lever and activating the shower, I step towards you with a soft expression. "Okay, so…I want you to get as much of this grime off in the shower before you soak. I'll be right here. As soon as it becomes too much, you call for me, okay?"

You don't look as sure as I wish you do, glaring into the water like it was a crazed Solarii. Without thinking, I cup your jawline and sweep a slow, tender line into your cheek with my thumb. Another motion that I'd have thought nothing of a month ago, now made my head feel light. Your full lips part slightly at the touch, your eyes close. My innards are doing summersaults when I speak again, voice nearly betraying me.

"It's gonna hurt, but it's gotta happen. I'm here to take care of you, Lara. Trust me." _Trust me._ You open your eyes narrowly and nod, you face adopting the hardened resolve it had in that horrid place. After a moment you pull away from me and, in a choppy, slow motion, you step out of your underwear and into the dry end of the shower.

As you step in, I get a quick flash of the entire length of the back of your body, riddled in countless wounds but still so goddamn gorgeous. I sigh as you disappear behind the curtain and take a seat on the plastic seat lid of the toilet, attempting with little victory to steady my breathing.

I find myself wishing the curtain were thinner. Even through this tiny barrier I become anxious, and without a thought I begin tapping my fingertips against the plastic between my legs.

Quiet. The water sounds vaguely like it's being interrupted by your body, but you aren't moving in it. I spot the shadow that is you on the curtain and watch it pointedly, ready to charge in at the first sign of distress. It comes quicker than I had hoped as the shadow shrinks down, as if you've gotten to your knees.

I'm up within a heartbeat, a breath, pulling at the rubber and kneeling beside your balled up form with a coaxing hand at the naked small of your back. The water is pouring over the planes of your strong shoulder blades, cutting through the grime and leaving every wound as red and angry as ever. You're shaking again, violently. I can't help but touch you in this distress; I want to hold you, I want to stroke your hair and your face and tell you everything is going to be okay.

With guiding hands I pull you backwards out of the current and have you sit a the dry end; you're still hiding your face in you bent up knees, your arms hugging your legs to your chest, when I plug the drain and turn the faucet back on.

The bath is separated from the wall on all sides but two, allowing me to getting behind you at the short side. With a whisper I ask, "Can I take your ponytail out, sweetie?"

You nod into your knees, and gingerly I wrap one hand around the base and pull with the other, careful not to disturb any head wounds hidden by your hair. A sick feeling turns in my gut when I realize the doctors might have to shave your head to get to them. Your chocolate hair falls over your shoulders and smells distinctly of blood and raw meat. That tealeaf fragrance had been defeated for the scent of rotting flesh, and just that made anger bubble in my throat.

I wrapped my arms over yours as the tub filled, resting my chin on your left shoulder and placing another feather-light kiss on your cheekbone. I want to give you comfort. I want to stop your pained shuddering. So I whisper endearances into your hair in hopes of eliciting a quiet response, a sigh, and sign of some kind of relief. You begin to relax into me after some minutes, lifting up your head and leaning it back on my shoulder with wickedly red eyes.

After rising momentarily to shut the water off, I snatch a clean cloth from the tiny closet on the far side of the room and return to your back.

"Relax, sweetheart," I coo, leaning the side of my head against yours and dipping the cloth into the water. You oblige with timid motions, letting yourself stretch your legs out and turning your hip to the side, obscuring yourself. You breath is shaky, and with your arms crossed over your breasts you inhale sharply as water freely licks at your side.

My eyes scan you, and I'm thankful that from the angle I'm in you can't see my gaze. Hunger. I imagine how your abdomen would pulse and ripple under my lips.

Unwilling to succumb to such notions I place the cloth into your hands and tell you to wash, while I try to comb out your hair with my fingers. It's a godsend that you'd kept it in a ponytail through all that; had you abandoned your tie, it'd be a tangled mass of grit by now. I work my fingers from your scalp to your ends, careful not to pull too hard, not to hurt you in any way beyond what I've already done…

It takes twenty minutes to finish. I take a glass and pour water onto the top of your head, through your locks to rinse. Some of it flows over your face; you close your eyes and it soothes you quietly.

Finally, in a pool of water filled with red tinge, you shower off one last time and I wrap you in a clean towel and help you step out.

As you lift you pull your underwear back up your long legs you stumble, and an arm flies up to clutch your temple. I hurry you to the bed and sit you down.

"You okay?" I huff.

You moan softly and purse your lips. "Hn…just…dizzy," you respond after a moment. It only makes me more worried.

"I'm…I'm going to dress your wounds, okay?"

It proves to be a long, agonizing process. I could only find simple bandages, butterfly latches and gauze tape in the bridge, so I combine them on the biggest injuries and left the rest to breath. By the time I'm done, the length of you is speckled with bandaids and thin wraps.

I step back to admire my work. "Well, I'll definitely be relieved when we get you to a real doctor," I sigh with a forced smile. "How do you feel?"

"Better, now that that's over," you breathe. I help you dress again, fighting through another crippling round of thoughts and urges.

A knock at the door rattles the room as I'm getting ready to help you into your shirt. With a moment of hesitation I go to it and pull at the heavy handle. Outside, Jonah stands in the hallway with a tray of food and a clear bottle of water.

"Hello, Sammie," he smiles warmly, filling me with the hope that's been slowly draining since we escaped.

"Oh, hey Jonah." I clutch your shirt between my hands and force another smile.

"I brought you food, and water. If Lara still can't handle food, she should be drinking plenty of fluids."

"Of course. Thank you." I take the tray graciously, pushing the door farther open as I pace back to your bedside and place the meal on the floor. When I return, Jonah's eyes are fixated on you in a bothering way. I follow his gaze to you, and furrow my brow at your odd disposition.

You're moving your eyes confusedly about the cabin, as if you've forgotten where you are.

"How is she doing?" He asks as if he already knows the answer.

"Well, she hasn't almost died yet today, so…" I shrug. "Better than yesterday?"

He dismisses himself soon after, and when I return to you I pull your troubling glances to me with a hand on either side of your face. You seem to resurface in reality after a short time.

"Sam…" your voice is quivering, tears are gathering on your lower lids. "I'm falling apart," you sob, burying yourself in me.

"No, no, no…Hey, you're okay. You're okay." I wrap you in a tight embrace and hold you.

And I weep with you. And I lie to you, over and over.

You're not okay. And I have the horrible, crippling feeling you're only going to get worse.


	4. Chapter 4

_Whoops, didn't realize I forgot to source the lyrics from the beginning. It's from __**Matthew 25:21 by The Mountain Goats**__. If you want a real tone setter for this fic, I definitely recommend checking it out. Thank you for reminding me, ClaireisinLightning! _

The next night I am woken by a fit of horrific screaming.

"Lara! Goddammit-" I mount you at the waist, grabbing your threatening arms and pinning them above your head before you can claw at yourself further. "Wake up!" My voice is saturated with hissing frustration and panic.

You show no signs of understanding, or even hearing, and continue your frenzy of angered thrashing. You're strong, so strong after Yamatai, so much stronger than me, and it's a great struggle keeping you tethered to the mattress.

The deep trenches you've torn into your upper arms and chest are beginning to bleed from exertion, and I'm regrettably aware that my right knee is pressing up against your deteriorating side.

"Get out," you scream, jaw clenching tight around the words. This isn't right. This can't be happening. No one dreams like this, this violently. Your words are too coherent, your actions are too overwhelming. This is something else. Something rooted in your infected wounds. I become sickeningly aware that this is a fever dream, and it means the infection has gotten into your blood.

"Lara," I nearly sob. "Snap out of it!" Please. Wake up. Please. _Please._ Your eyes flutter open for only a second, hazed sclera turned inwards. Every blood curdling cry you let loose sounds like agony, as if you're caught in a mad cycle of reliving every injury, every stab and shot and trap.

I hear the audible sound of flesh tearing under me. My hands tighten around your wrists futilely; you're going to be in incredible pain when you wake up.

You escape my grip suddenly, and in your crazed state your elbow collides with the side of my head, hard. I reel back with a startled shout.

"Shit!" I bark, and with a new resolve I lunge back onto you, fighting to keep you immobile. "Stop it, Lara." I shock myself with a hard edge of my tone. "Stop it."

Without warning you begin to laugh, wildly, baring your teeth between maliciously curled lips. "Bastards," you shout with a heinous grin. "Run, you bastards!" Your arms struggle against mine and begin to lift the entire weight of my upper body off the bed.

Shit. This is fucking dangerous. "Lara-Fuck! Wake. _UP!"_

It takes me a moment to realize what I'd done, and I freeze as a sharp sting echoes from my palm to the tips of my fingers. Your head is bent to the right, cheek red, and your body tightens completely before falling lax.

"L…Lara?" I clap a hand over my mouth as the mark on your cheek slowly irritates into the shape of a near perfect handprint.

You groan as you surface, recentering the position of your head to gaze absently up at me. "Sam…?"

"Oh, god, I am so sorry, sweetie," I plea, tracing the new mark with nervous fingertips. "I couldn't get you awake…"

You mumble something incoherent through trembling lips and throw your attention all around you like a trapped animal. I shuffle off of you quickly, afraid I'm crowding you in this moment of anxiety.

"Sam," you call out, grabbing onto my shoulders and sitting up too quickly. You fold into yourself at this motion.

"Don't!" I lean over you and move with your weight, pain forcing you back into the bed. "Don't move like that, Lara. You'll hurt yourself more." After taking so much time and energy bandaging you the afternoon before, the fact that you could easily tear yourself into pieces, asleep, just made my chest twist into a tight knot.

"Sam," you murmur again, eyes brewing with hot tears. "Oh god, I…" Anguish carves itself deeply into your features, your body language, and your hands move from my shoulders to your face. You cover yourself, as if in shame, and you bark a single sob into them.

"It's okay, sweetheart," I try to soothe you, cradling your head against my chest and pulling you into my lap the same way I had in the bathroom.

"Sam…" you cling to me, searching for validation to a statement you hadn't made yet. "I…I was there…I was…killing them…" Your voice is choppy and hazed in thick, palpable emotion. "He was trying to get away, oh god…" You look up at me then, biting your lips together for a moment before spilling yourself onto my chest again. "I…I ran at him…he was only trying to get away…Sam, I was…I was _laughing._"

Your words are like bullets. I tighten my grasp around your broken, shaking, _beautiful _body and pull myself into this new world that follows you around like a rabid animal, cursing it to its core. I expected nightmares, I expected your reliving that fear. I expected PTSD, and paranoia, and a horrid mixture of a hundred other crippling things.

But I never thought it'd make you question your very nature. Your strength. Your sanity. 

Sanity.

"Oh Christ, I'm…I'm a fucking _psychopath_!" You snap the words and tighten every muscle into your body until you're a ball of nervous energy in my arms. "I chased them to the ends of that place, I murdered them without a _thought…_"

I reply softly, masking the ripping pain in the back of my throat. "They were trying to kill you, kill all of us. You did what you had to do to stay alive-"

"No." You're deathly serious. "Sam, I was _hunting_ them." You look me dead in the eyes for measurable counts before shooting a sharp glare to the locked door, as if expecting something to break it down at any second. "Like deer…"

This is not okay. I shake my head and shove my nose into your hair, inhaling the grim scent with stomach turning frustration. I wanted to go back to Yamatai and light every tomb, every shrine, every tree, every dead body and every fucking mountain on fire until the entire island was nothing but a smothered patch of ash, a black ink smudge on an old map. I wanted to find Mathias' body and smash it into the rocks with my bare fists.

And despite these debilitating emotions boiling inside me, I couldn't find a single sentence to say that could comfort you. You were force to kill. Some people…some people never recover from trauma like that when it stands in singularity. But combined with the abuse you'd taken, the fear I knew was absolutely haunting…

My head throbs where you'd hit it accidentally, compressing under the pressure of my protective anger.

"Everything hurts," you choke, clutching my chest, balling the fabric of my shirt between your fingers.

"I know, sweetie," I coo, holding you close.

"I think I'm going to be ill…"

I help you to the toilet, and your body purges itself of all of the fluids I'd forced on you hours beforehand for a straight twenty minutes. It take an hour to fix the damage you'd caused on your wounds, and twelve more butterfly stitches to close the new claw marks on your arms.

Your side is festering further. I'm shocked to find purple varicose veins stretching out from it, reaching over your abdomen and your back.

"It burns," you moan, tears wiped away. "Like I'm holding a lighter to it."

I remember your amateur cauterization, or at least what you'd told me of it, on the entrance side of the injury. The memory makes me shiver.

"We need to get you to a doctor," I quip nervously, tracing the dark, root-like vines under your skin. "I'll take care of you the best I can in the meantime." I hold your hands in mine and massage your palms with my thumbs. "Just don't go dying on me, okay?"

I roll the words over my tongue as if the statement was a joke, but they sting as they leave my lips.

"I'll try," you smile forcibly.

I examine your cheek with a furrowed brow, the handprint faded but still visible.

"I can't believe you slapped me," you say, running fingers over the area.

"Me neither," I sigh. "But you elbowed me in the head."

"You hate getting hit in the head." It was true; moreso than most people, I got physically angry when anyone touched my head or face unexpectedly. "I'm surprised I'm still alive." A joke. I can't help but grin at you.

"Well, you're just too cute to kill, I guess," I tease lightheartedly, slapping your knee in a playful way.

"Cute? You're mad." You brush your fringe out of your face. "Like this, I look like the leftovers of a rogue mulcher."

You've never been very self-conscious before, and seeing you question your beauty is an endearing change of tone. It's not that you thought highly of yourself; it was more like you never considered it a consequence of anything, unimportant. You always dressed modestly, hair pulled back, minimal make-up if any.

"Are you kidding?" I chide. "Imagine how cool you're going to look when you heal up! With all those scars!"

"You don't think they're…ugly?"

It shocks me a bit to hear you say such a thing. Ugly? "Sweetie, nothing about you is ugly." My voice is barely a whisper as I step closer. "Trust me." I raise my open palm in front of you and hold it there; it was a gesture anyone may have been confused by, but you understand immediately and rest your own against it, threading our fingers together and smiling weakly.

"Thank you, Sam. You know, for everything."

"Yeah…" I murmur. "Don't thank me yet."


	5. Chapter 5

We port on some pacific island with a crazy name later that day for refueling, and I have to nearly fight you to keep you in bed; the only reason I succeeded is because I tucked the handgun you handed me into the waistline of my pants and promised to stay alert, no matter how safe my surroundings seemed. Warmth blooms within me under your hardened gaze, your protective side making my head light.

I rummage through my old, grimy white skinny pants and find a wad of American dollars stuffed into one of the cargo pockets; the bills are badly creased and dirtied, but money is money and I'm grateful when I find it. I go through your pants next, searching for anything to add to the pile, and find a forgotten fifty dollar bill in your rear pocket. You would have personally celebrated discovering it, I think, thanks to your stubborn refusal to lay a finger on your inheritance. Fifty bucks was grocery money, a gas bill. Now, it might be the fifty bucks that saves your life. I fold it into the rest after counting it carefully.

I'm a little surprised to find that apparently I was carrying 500 dollars with me on the Endurance. What the hell was I planning on buying on a mythical island? New shoes? My own naivety nauseated me a bit; what we got in that place couldn't have been farther from what I'd been expecting, though thinking on it I hadn't known what to expect to begin with.

Shaking my head fervently I begin my trek to the wheelhouse, deciding that since dollars probably meant nothing to the natives, I'd have to find someone on board with local currency to trade with.

Luckily, the captain is an honest man and when I thrust the wad of bills at him he counts them individually, opens the lock box under the controls and withdraws what I hope is the equivalent in foreign cash. "Be careful," he warns, folding it into my open hands. "This is not the most friendly place for travelers." I nod, and steel myself for the experience.

I suspect he'd only let me off the ship because I was the only one out of all of us who blended in with the native population; Reyes and Jonah remained on board at his request, and gave me a list of essentials for purchase.

The marketplace is thankfully only a short walk from the port, visible from the docked prow. The crowd is sparse, thank god, because had I been surrounded by anyone at this point I'd probably start shooting out of sheer paranoia. Makeshift booths stocked with local fruits and vegetables were at the forefront of the populace, followed by some walk in stores that carried simple, practical items for everyday use. I walk through the isles with eyes buzzing back and forth between the products, hoping to find something useful; I spot a skipper-sized first aid kit after a while of searching, complete with adrenaline shots, a heat blanket, an unmarked morphine bottle and a small container of Tylenol tablets. I nearly leap with glee on examining the contents; better equipped, I might be able to flush the infection out myself, or in the very least make you substantially more comfortable. My eyes settle for an uneasy amount of time on the shots and I have a brief, disturbing imagining of me having to stab you in the chest with one. Had I been in their possession two days ago I probably would have done it then and there.

I suddenly recall the scene in Pulp Fiction when Uma Thurman ODed and the other guy had to stab her right between the ribs with it, and I shudder, repressing the thoughts such a thing provokes and attempting to focus on finding the other handful of supplies Jonah had asked of me. I make my purchase, and the feeling of a shopping bag in my grasp is oddly comforting.

The next shop hosts a variety of electronics, all of which look suspiciously like smuggled goods; sim cards had to be purchased separately and the boxes looked pretty knocked out of shape. I was getting ready to walk out before I got arrested just for being there when I laid eyes on an old model of an Ipod Touch, complete with 4G access and a pair of headphones. A wonderful idea dawns on me, then.

I take it to the sketchy looking register teller and place it on the counter with a nervous smile.

"Just this?" he barked; I'm surprised to hear the Japanese leave his throat, as well as grateful.

"_Hai_," I answer easily, continuing in my native tongue. "I didn't see a price tag on it-"

"All Apple products of this year are 30,000 yen. This I cannot change."

I look at him in an exasperated way. "That's outrageous! For a Touch? This thing looks like it just left the battlefield." I mull over the box and glance up. "I'll give you 20,000 for it."

"28,500 girl. That is the lowest I can go." He crosses his arms in steadfast resolve, but I'm hardly fooled. I can't claim to be a great adventurer, but if anyone knows the art of haggling, it's me.

"25,000, or I walk out now."

"_Eeye_."

"Alright then, guess I walk." I turn on my heel to bluff a slow walk out, and as I predicted, the shop keeper wasn't willing to let another purchase get away from him.

"_Choto mate_," he sighs angrily. "Fine, fine. 25,000 yen, even."

I pay with a little too much excitement, plopping the bills down in individual increments confidently. I tuck the box into the first aid bag, aware enough to realize flashing it around could be dangerous in a place like this.

I pass a weapons dealer on my way to the other end of the market and I freeze, staring vacantly at the machine gun mounted on a display post and the corset-designed quiver beside it. The sight of them made me cringe; the model seemed very similar to the one you had taken off countless Solarii heads with, and the ridiculous design of the quiver seemed to make a mockery out of everything we'd been through.

I don't notice the keeper approach me from behind.

A sudden pressure on my left shoulder makes me startle with a barking yell, and I whip around to confront my perceived attacker with my hand over the concealed gun at my side. My hip bumps the stall as I turn, causing the entire display to topple over. The gun doesn't go off, but the shocking sound of metal colliding with gravel imitates the noise of shots enough to make my heart jump into my throat.

"Gomen," I mumble shakily before fixing my eyes to the ground and scurrying away in the opposite direction. I barely hear his regressing swears over the thumping of my paranoid heart rate, legs in full retreat back the way I'd come. Suddenly the crowd seems so much more congested than a moment ago, full, much more full and surrounding, and _dangerous. _I shove my way through a tightly packed group and swear I feel the edge of a blade stroke the small of my back.

"Hey!" I shout, waving my hands the cover the area. I flash a glaring gaze over the group, and every one of then looks back from me as if I was a crazed asylum escapee. Without hesitation I continue moving, feet refusing to still. Subconsciously, I have the overwhelming urge to look forward and see your back, leading me away. I want to reach for your hand, cling to your arm as you shield me. I'm not safe here without you. Not safe. I break into a run then, ignoring the annoyed grumblings and insults spit in my direction, and beeline back to the ship. I'd wandered farther out than I'd realized and am on the verge of panicking, the thought of being lost in this damn place absolutely terrifying, when I finally spot the long prow of our rescuer.

I nearly push Jonah out of the way when he tries to catch me on the entrance ramp, concerned by my obviously flustered state. I don't care right now. I need you. I need to see you and touch you and I need to be with you because if I'm not fucking within an arm's length of you then I'm not safe.

Your room is quiet, and dark. I look to the porthole quickly, and spot a piece of cardboard shoved over the only source of light; it wasn't pitch by any means, but it dimmed the lighting significantly.

I hurry to your bedside and collapse on the floor beside your cot, grabbing at your exposed hand and clutching it tightly, resting my forehead against your hot flesh.

"Sam?" You sit up as quickly as your wounds allow and fold your fingers over the back of my neck. "What's…What's the matter? Did something happen?" Your face becomes grim. "Are you hurt?"

"No…no…" I breathe heavily. "I just…I got scared, and I did something stupid." I sniffle a bit and rest my pursed lips against your knuckles. I feel your worried gaze, and _finally_ I feel at ease beneath it once again; I can't help but relax, especially when your digits begin massaging tight little circles into my neck tenderly.

"Tell me," you whisper.

"It's dumb," I reply, leaning to place my forehead on your arched abdomen. "It's just…some guy was selling guns and I just freaked myself out, got crazy nervous for no reason…"

"You're still in shock, Sam. You're not used to walking around freely yet…Though I can't say I enjoyed not knowing where you were…" I roll my head to the side and lock eyes with you. Your features are so soft, and the low light shapes your face so beautifully.

I…I have to touch you. I reach up, and trail my fingers lazily from your temple to your jawline. You smile in a small way, and I have to wonder if it's a direct response to my striations, or just your indulging my neediness.

"How are you doing, sweetie?"

You don't answer me, only avert your eyes from mine and pull away from my touch. The motion is anxiety-inducing.

"Lara-"

"What did you buy?" you interrupt, shaking your head through the words. I furrow my brow but don't press the subject, though I wonder if you blocked off the window so I couldn't easily see the state you're in.

"Lots of stuff. Some painkillers, a first aid kit, muscle relaxers. Oh! And…" I ruffle the bag beside me the pull the Ipod box from it, struggling with the stubborn plastic for a moment. "For music, until we get home. Since you've gotta stay in bed and take it easy. Maybe it'll make you feel a little better to hear something familiar."

Your smile returns as I speak, and it warms me. The box snaps open after a while of fighting the packaging, and I quickly snap in the sim card and switch it on. It floods with light, fully charged.

"So sketchy," I joke. "This thing was totally smuggled."

You hum at my words quietly and take the box from me, examining it for yourself.

Before I fumble with the device further, I unlatch the Medical pack and withdraw the pills, placing one painkiller and one muscle relaxer into my palm. "Here, take these." You throw them back without question and without water.

I don't bother setting up a security code on the Ipod, knowing full well that once we get back to civilization I'd probably lose track of it anyhow. I go into the Itunes store and tap in my password quickly, scrolling through the options until I find the music section. I nearly blush as I remember that I have a whole saved playlist titled "Lara's Fav Stuff", in which I poured songs I knew you liked into just in case we needed to share buds for some reason. I tap into the file and scroll, the band names luring out memories of easier times.

Sun Kill Moon, Salvador Sanchez.

_How can you listen to this? I can't even understand what he's saying!_

_It's about the music, Sam. It's…atmospheric. It's about boxers who died young, chasing fights._

_That's so depressing._

My father used the listen to Sun Kill Moon in his study. It's…familiar.

Vampire Weekend.

_You remembered the map, right?_

_Erm…totally! That'd be, like, the dumbest thing to forget! But, let's say, theoretically, I DID forget the map…_

_Sam!_

…I'm too adorable to pummel, right?

Damien Rice.

_See that guy over there? He asked me on a date yesterday._

_Hm. What did you say?_

_Nooope. _

_Why? I thought you said you fancied him._

_He said he wanted to get together on a Sunday. _

_So?_

_Lara! Sundays are our movie –slash- junk food nights! I can't blow off my roomie just cause some dude wants to get in my pants. _

_You turned down a date to get sick on crisps and watch movies with me?_

_Duh!_

I feel my eyes flicker from within the images. Even then we were so close, and now…

A sickening thought crosses my mind before I'm conscious enough to stop it. _Now, it feels like I'm holding your hand, waiting for you to go. _

It's the same kind of feeling you get when you're standing at the airport, seeing a friend off, and you wave at them with a smile as they pass through the metal detector. The slow process of watching them go from behind a gate you're not allowed to cross, until they finally cross step into the plane and you lose sight of them. And you know you'll never see that person again, no matter how many promises you make to keep in touch.

I shake my head, refusing to give my eyes time to brew new tears, and crawl into bed beside you. I motion for you to lay back down as I pop the white headphones into the outlet and place one bud in your ear and the other in mine. Shuffling through appropriate song choices, I settle on something called Placebo, press play and settle into the blankets, laying on my side to face you. Our hands find each other between us, tangling our fingers together loosely and finally breathing easy. You retain the worrisome shiver, but I do my best to push it from my mind. I need to be strong.

It doesn't hurt me.  
You wanna **feel how it feels?**  
You wanna know, know **that it doesn't hurt me?**  
You wanna hear about the deal I'm making?  
You be running up that hill  
You and me be running up that hill

I need to return the favor.

The music is a quiet hum in the back of my mind. I need to stop thinking. I want so badly to forget. I want to heal you, I want to erase this madness that follows us now, chewing at our ankles ceaselessly. I want…

_You don't want to hurt me,  
Let's see how deep the bullet lies  
Unaware that I'm tearing you asunder  
There is thunder in our hearts, baby  
So much hate for the ones we love?  
__**Tell me we both matter, don't we?**_

I return from my thoughts on the sound of a sharp sob, singular and stifled, invading my unplugged ear. I look to you, and even in the dark I can see your distress, your face curled into a painfully sorrowful expression. The song continues, shared between us.

And I pull you close to me in silence. "Sam," you choke quietly. "I don't want…I'm not ready to-"

"Shh, sweetie. Don't say it," I coo. "You won't, I promise. I promise you…"\

You, be running up that hill  
You and me, be running up that hill  
You and me **won't** **be unhappy.**

I'm a liar. I don't know. I just can't stand this entire horrid situation, and in the end I'm still selfish. So I whisper more sweet lies and cradle you gently in arms too weak to do anything else.

And if I only could,  
Make a deal with God,  
And get him to swap our places,  
Be running up that road,  
Be running up that hill,  
With no problems…


	6. Chapter 6

The next day, I open my eyes to find you standing in the middle of the cabin, naked besides the pair of black panties Reyes had fetched for you the other night. Your back is to me, inflamed, but your head is turned up towards the ceiling in a gracefully blissful gesture. It's a bit unnerving seeing you in such a state, so rather than leave you to your possible delirium I speak up from under the blankets.

"Don't look too long," I quip. "Or the mold will fall in your eyes."

You start in a small way and look to me with a calm smile. The expression is so far separated from you that my breath catches in my throat at the sight of it. I prop myself on an elbow and address you delicately. "How are you?"

"My head feels like it weighs about a thousand kilos," you groan, "And my insides are in knots, but oddly…" You pause, considering your words carefully. "It must have been those tablets you gave me last night, Sam. I feel…better."

I nearly jump out of bed as I hear you say this. "Are you serious?" I grasp the side of your shoulder and cup your cheek on the right side, feeling for heat. You're still warm, but less so, and this small mercy makes my heart soar. I lean into the small distance between us and press my forehead to your clavicle, wrapping my arms under yours and lightly dragging my fingertips to rest at your shoulder blades. "I can't believe it…I keep waking up expecting you to be-" I stop myself short, and blush when I realize my barely clothed upper body is pressed tightly, almost illicitly, against your bare chest.

Embarrassed, both by the contact and the burning in my abdomen, I move away a step and snatch your top from the floor. With a playful move I fling it at you.

"Jeez, put some clothes, will ya? Normally I'm the one strutting around in my birthday suit," I laugh, thankful the room is still dimly lit to obscure my feverish color.

It was true; I was never particularly shy in Uni, and when I wanted to lounge around in our dorm in my underwear, I did it without so much as a warning in your direction. Part of me got a kick out of your sheepish nature when it came to things like that; it had taken the longest time, but eventually you wouldn't even blink at my antics. I suppose it was particulars like that that made us so unusually close, those slow blurrings of boundaries until they were all but non-existent.

You catch it with a chuckle, but otherwise remain quiet. I watch you closely as the smile slowly fades, your eyes turned down to the floor and brow in a low, tight position. When your gaze meets mine again, it is hard, searing and altogether predatory. Confident. Smoldering, without effort. I feel my heart shudder and my chest heave beneath it; I've never seen such power in your eyes before.

It made me want to close that distance again. I wanted you to shove me into the far wall and tear my clothes off. I wanted to hear you growl my name, to kiss me and bite me and touch me-

"Sam?"

I shake my head. _Don't ruin it,_ I chide myself. _We're so close already, and I'll never be this close to another person again. I can lay with you now, I can touch you. I can even kiss you if it's innocent enough. Like this, I can be within a single boundary of having you. That's enough, isn't it?_

I'm displeased by the severe protest in my lower belly at this logic.

"S-Sorry," I mutter, rubbing my eyes to feign sleepiness. "I'm just…" Stupid. And selfish. And horny. _What the fuck, Sam. Get it together, goddammit. _

That butterfly flutter returns as you touch the side of my face delicately, your eyebrow knit. You're a breath away again, I can't stand it. That fire shocks and flickers in the creamy hazel of your eyes, protective and concerned. I find myself relishing the sensation of your caring so deeply for my well being that I tremble beneath your fingers.

"You're spending too much energy taking care of me, Sam. Have you forgotten what you've been through?" Your other hand threads our fingers together, a familiar gesture.

Perhaps I had. But the dark reminded me, every night. You don't deserve my grief, and so I smile deceptively. "I'm okay." _I'm not okay._

And you're not stupid. Not by the wildest stretches of the imagination. But you sense my emotional discomfort and let your hand drop from my face.

"Do you need some more meds?" I move back to the first aid kit. You nod and hug the shirt to your chest, covering yourself in an endearing way.

"I haven't looked at it in almost two days," I say, shaking a tablet into my hand.

"Don't," you whisper. "I don't feel like knowing today." I can tell by your tone that you know it hasn't gotten better.

"I have to."

"No."

"Lara-"

"No, Sam!" You raise your voice, making me start. You exhale sharply, shakily, and give me a heart breaking glance. "I'm sorry…I just, I know already. But…I don't want to. I'm falling to pieces."

"Okay, sweetie." I place the tablets in your palm. "It's okay. We're okay."

"It's just…I remember all those times I wadded in waist deep water filled with rotting body parts and rancid blood; I hadn't even thought about how awful it'd be for my wounds. I'm so mindless."

Septic water. I remember reading in my required biology course that contact with putrefying flesh was just about the worst possible thing you can do to an injury. A different kind of nervous heat invades me.

"Okay, I promise I won't look, and I won't say anything, but can I please just…change the bandage? I didn't get to yesterday, and I don't think it's smart to just leave it."

You go quiet for a moment. "Alright." Your tone is barely above a tired sigh. I pull gauze and mesh tape from the box and place it on the small table top by the bed, preparing it for a quick wrap. The improvised bandage held to you now is soiled through, splotches of brown showing through the length of it, and black veins reach out from all around its edges. I take a deep, quiet breath and begin to pull it away.

You flinch back from my touch immediately, stepping away, making a strained sound. "Stop," you crack. "You're too rough."

"I've barely touched you," I force a chuckle that burns in my throat. I go for you again, edging the tape away, and freeze when I realize the infected fluid had dried to the material, fusing it to the open mouth of the puncture.

"Fuck," I hiss. I should have changed it yesterday! Why the hell didn't I? I just…I just came back and fell asleep, and now…

"S-Sam-"

"It's okay!" I exclaim, trying to brand the words into my brain. My eyes are beginning to burn. Everyday it seems harder and harder, and hopelessness gnawed in the forefront of my mind now. I pull at the bandage again, desperate, and the only thing that stops me from ripping it off in one frustrated motion is the horrid cry you bark in response. I rocket up from my kneeling position and storm loudly to the other end of the cabin, clutching at my scalp with angry fingernails. I'm so fucking frustrated that it hurts, it's crippling. Every muscle in my body feels like it's curling into my navel and my mind is absolutely filled with wasps.

I need to do something, or I'm going to explode. I need to hit something, or throw something, or scream at something until my lungs give out. Giving into the overwhelming urge I shout a string of profanities and smash my open palms into the steel bolted east wall. It sends shockwaves of vibrating, dull pain through the entirety of both my arms.

I'm hardly aware of your voice, but I'm sure you're saying something. The haze in my brain is too thick to process it. My innards are knotting themselves up, my breathing is quickly becoming uncontrollable. Ragged, spastic.

I'm having a panic attack. The realization is incredibly clear. I sob loudly into my hands and very nearly smash my forehead into the metal in an uncontrollable fit.

I feel your arms wrap around my center from behind and it's the only thing that stops me from going insane. "Sam…" Your voice is so far away, and I find myself chasing it. "It's alright. Deep breaths, Sammie. Just breathe." It's hard, so hard to inhale and exhale over the stutters of my sobs. I can feel your lips against my earlobe and I'm pulled closer to the surface. I break through with a soft sigh and a spilling of tears as my chest heaves.

"I-I'm so-sorry…" I can barely speak, but I'm aware enough to turn into your embrace and bury my nose in your neck.

"Quiet. Just relax, I'm here."

You're here. You're here. Oh god, where would I be if you weren't? I need you with me. You need to stay. Please. Please. I can't stand to watch you suffer like this. You're wasting away, and I'm thrashing and biting and fighting against it, and it seems like I'm fighting even harder than you are. The burn in your touch only makes me sob harder.

"Oh god, L-Lara. I j-just…I just want you to get better…" I sound like I'm pleading with you, like it's a personal decision you've made to worsen your condition. You saved me. You saved me so I could watch you **die.**

"Oh, Sammie…" You never call me Sammie. It sounds so sweet on your lips. "I will get better." I look up at you, unconvinced. But the strength in your eyes makes me trust you unequivocally, and I relax into your embrace. "I'd never leave you alone."

I sniff, pause, and find myself giggling into your collarbone. I can't help it, it's just too ridiculous.

"Oh Christ," I say into your warmed skin. "You're such a guy! My heart just totally skipped a beat when you said that." I dare not utter the other things you'd done to me, but I must say something. You feign a pout and nudge my side gently.

"So I'm manly now, is that it?"

"Yup," I quip, grinning and wiping my wet cheeks on the fabric between us. You must have tied the shirt around your breasts during my fit, unable to lift it over your head on your own. "Totally manly."

We're quiet for a moment as I reluctantly considered our options regarding your wound. With the fabric fused, there'd be no easy way to change the bandage, but it absolutely had to be done. I turn my eyes up to you slowly, skimming my focus over the strong line of your collarbone and up the gentle curve of your nape. My fingers ghost over your side.

"This…this is going to hurt." My voice is trembling, and quiet.

"I'm going to fight you," you whisper with impossible calm, running your fingers through my short hair. "Go get Jonah and Reyes."

I fetch them and explain myself, though the troubled glaze over Jonah's eyes only becomes more prominent. Your wearing another brave expression when we return, but you cannot mask the extreme, unhealthy pale tone of your complexion. I hear Reyes exhale through her teeth pointedly at the sight of you.

"Lara, Christ…" She sounded more concerned than I ever expected.

"Thank you for your help, you guys," you say, voice like stone. You've got a towel in each hand, and the thought of their purpose makes me ill. "Jonah should be strong enough to hold my arms down-"

"Lara-" Reyes cut her off in a concerned way, but you continue right over her.

"But my legs need to be bound, or I may hurt one of you. I'll bite on this, but I can't be certain I won't become delirious and attack." I tighten my hands into tight fists. You're pretending again. Pretending to be all good and fine, like you're discussing the weather with us.

"When you have me down, rip the bandage free as quickly as possible. And Sam…" you hand Reyes one of the towels and don't look at me when I'm addressed. "Please wait outside until it's over."

"What?," I bite, a bit angered. "No way, I'm staying right-"

"No, you aren't." Your tone is as hard and sharp as the edge of a blade and it makes me stop in my tracks. "You don't need to be here for this." Your gaze softens, but only in the smallest way. "Please…you don't need to see this."

Great. Even you know how weak I am. I feel myself stiffen as I spin on my heel to the door, eyes stinging. Fucking useless.

I'm bitter and angry, but I don't leave the hallway right outside your room. I'm sunk into the floor with my head in my knees when the muffled screaming begins and I have to fight every protective instinct I have not to charge in. I hear Reyes count to three slowly and loudly, prompting, and directly after the last number there is a single, blood-curdling cry.

Then, complete and utter silence.

Minutes pass. Will someone fetch me when it's over? Over. Suddenly the silence is far more disturbing than the heart turning noises of suffering.

"Jonah?" I call through the steel door. "Jonah, is she okay?" The time it takes for him to respond seems like eons, lifetimes. I'm about to bang the door down when he opens it quietly and lets me in.

Reyes is still beside you, pressing one of the towels to your wound and mumbling something or another. You look like you've passed out during the process. When she turns I'm shocked by her expression.

"Jonah," she hurries. "This is bad. I've ever seen an injury this badly infected before." She pauses. "Does anyone know how she got that puncture? What the hell happened?"

"Rebar," I answer automatically. "She fell on a piece of rebar and it went right through her. She told me."

"Metal. That's not good." She goes deathly silent, and I have to urge her to continue. "There's no point in assuming a worst case scenario, Sam. She's still alive, that's what's important."

I don't bite back my anger this time. "I don't give a shit what you think I can handle," I spit. "Tell me."

She sighs and props her hands against her hips. "Necrotizing fasciitis. It's a…flesh eating bacteria. It enters deep injuries and causes rot inside it, and spreads fairly quickly through skin cells. It would explain the expansion of it. But I'm really hoping that isn't the case."

"Does it get worse?"

"The only way to remove the bacteria is amputation." My stomach drops. "And you can't exactly amputate someone's torso…"

I nearly shake her. "What are the chances of that being the case?"

"Small," she breathes. "I've just never seen an infection progress like this."

"How do you know all of this, Josilin?" Jonah asks from behind me. She exhales, sits on the corner of the bed and removes her left sock, revealing empty space where her three middle toes should be.

"Engineering accident. One of the steam valves exploded; it sent shrapnel right into my foot. I'm lucky my boss sent me to the hospital right away. Even after just an hour they had to remove the toes; apparently the bacteria can live on just about any surface as long as it's not disinfected." She pulled the sock back on and stood.

The two of them excuse themselves after a while more of talking possibilities, and I'm left feeling sick and worried.

I rebandage your wound, which has, in fact, appeared to have gotten bigger, and wipe the perspiration from your face. This action makes you stir. Your eyes flutter open silently, and after a few moments of taking in your surroundings you go to sit up.

"Hey, no." I make a move to push you back down, but you latch onto my wrist to stop me. "Lara, lay down," I demand, no humor in my tone.

" I want to go outside," you say somewhat emptily, struggling to get to your feet.

"No, you want to lay down and take it easy so you don't give me another panic attack."

"Sam, let me up." My heart aches. It seems like everything you've said to me since I brought Reyes and Jonah has been distant and unfriendly. Were you angry I'd let the bandage fuse? That I hadn't taken better care of you after you saved my life numerous times?

Why the hell shouldn't you be? I've caused even more pain.

"No, I won't," I relent, fighting you. "You need to rest!"

"Sam!," you shout, startling me. Your eyes bare sharply into mine and suddenly I feel hypnotized by your piercing gaze. "I'm getting weaker and sicker every day." Your voice cracks under the weight of the words. "I'm not healing. I'm not getting better. And I'm not going to spend what could be my last days huddled in a cabin waiting to die."

The words slice through me like a thousand arrows. Hearing you acknowledge your grim situation sends a shockwave of agony and sorrow through me, spreading over my chest like a drop of black ink in water. I clutch to you tight, burying my watering eyes in your nape and reject my reality. Your reality.

I'm so fucking scared.


	7. Chapter 7

The air on deck is dense, and warm under the rays of the afternoon sun. Your left arm is slung over my shoulders for support, as your legs are rebellious against your unaided weight. You make small sounds of discomfort every handful of steps, breathing raspily through your parted lips, but stifle the large majority of your groans.

We reach the gate of the edge of the deck and I guide you to it. You take the metal in your fists and remove yourself from me, bracing yourself weakly and turning to face me. For a moment you close your eyes, relishing the sensation of the sun against your pale flesh for the first time in four agonizing days.

When you look to me again, I can't suppress my smile. "How's it feel?"

"Wonderful," you breath quietly. "Thank you, Sam."

"Of course, sweetie," I hum, stepping close and entangling our fingers.

"I'm sorry I snapped at you," you murmur somewhat guiltily, squeezing your fingers around mine. It's such an endearing gesture that I chuckle and turn my eyes to the floor.

"It's okay. I'm just…you know." I press an outstretched finger to my temple. "Freaked out and worried and such. Don't worry about me." No, please worry about me. I want you to worry. I want you to hold me and tell me this isn't my fault.

"No, I do." I look to you with large eyes, graciously. You know me too well. You know me better than anyone. I fold myself into your arms as they wrap around me, shivering. You hold me for a moment, resting your chin on my shoulder, and muse quietly, "I could really go for a cup of tea."

I'm wonderfully uplifted by the suggestion. I can do tea. I can totally do tea! I can't magically heal a deteriorating wound or cure nightmares, but I can totally make a fucking delicious cup of tea!

I make off to the bridge with a slight hitch in my step, ready to completely make the shit out of a mug of tea for you, and stumble passed Reyes as she's exiting with a bottle of water.

"Hey," she regards in a wary way. "You…you okay?"

"I'm gonna make Lara some tea!" Wow. I don't notice until the curly syllables exit my lips, but I am way over-the-top too excited about this.

"Oh…okay…" she drawls with a hitched eyebrow, watching me for a curious moment as I dance into the kitchen area before taking off on her own way. It's odd; ever since I'd seen her caring side with you, I've become significantly more comfortable just being around her, talking to her and the like. And it seems she's been taking it easy on us, now that my full time job involves keeping you alive the best I can; maybe she finally sympathizes with us?

I have to stand on my tip toes in order to rifle through the cabinet, and I spend a good ten minutes searching blindly, but eventually my hand bumps into the side of a teabox. I withdraw it, and the rather extensive sweetening condiments beside it, and light the burner under a watered filled pot as I go.

It was Junior year that I taught myself how to make your favorite tea. I'm not sure why I did it; you used to smile at me a certain way when the taste was spot on, or when I carried you a cup while you studied. I loved it, it was my own little challenge to get you to smile that warmly.

I ran scathing water into the cup for a bit to heat it and unwrapped the silk bag and string, grinning at the small mercy of it being an English brew. After searching in the tiny fridge for a bit, I found both heavy cream and low fat milk, and hummed happily to myself when I knew exactly which to pick. The milk jug is three quarters empty, but still well within the expiration date; it seemed like an odd thing to carry on a ship like this, but I dare not question it.

Yours was an odd mixture, as both your sugar and milk preferences seemed so small that it wouldn't affect the taste of the black tea at all. I poured the boiling (EXACTLY boiling, not warm) water into the cup with the bag already inside and added two pinches of the white granules worth into the browning beverage. A splash of milk later, and barely a single squeeze of honey, and it's done. I wait another three minutes for the leaves to strengthen it the right amount, and toss the bag without dunking it.

I grin as I walk out on deck to give it to you. I hope you smile that way again, I need it so badly.

I grow anxious when I find that you're not where I'd left you. "Lara?" I call, attempting not to sound too terribly concerned yet.

"Here," I hear you say from somewhere distant. I turn, and nearly lose it when I see you sitting on top of the two story wheelhouse roof with your legs crossed, blanket wrapped around your shoulders and chest.

"Christ!" I exclaim. "How the hell did you get up there?"

"I climbed," you say with your head cocked to the side, as if it's the most normal thing in the world. I'd be mad if it wasn't so endearing. You turn your face into the sea wind and relax into it, eyes closed and lips a breath apart, fringe blowing around your face. I can't stand how beautiful you look like this, how utterly at peace.

"I'm coming up!" I call, hussling to the side of the structure to find some way to scale it easily.

"There's a ladder in the other side." I can no longer see you, but your voice is plenty clear.

I find the ladder, and balance myself carefully with one hand as I scale it, avoiding spilling the tea. The roof is made of a silvery metal that's cool to the touch. I sit beside you with a broad smile; you look better in the sun than you do in a dark room.

"Here you are, madam," I present the cup as if it's a rare gift. You chuckle and take it in fingers still somehow nimble in their weakness and sniff delicately at the aroma. Your first sip is small, full lips parting around the rim of the mug to inhale the scent, and they curl at the corners as they pull away.

There. My chest fills with gracious heat as you look to me with that smile. I scoot closer in my glee and lean into your shoulder, resting my head there. "It's so good to see that look on your face, you know," I murmur. From here, I could brush my lips across your nape and claim it an accident.

I close my eyes for a brief time to shield the world from my thoughts. Your fingers brush over the width of my upper arm and I linger on the light trails of sensation they leave behind, imagining that touch elsewhere, everywhere. I'm aware when you place the cup against the roof with a small sound, but my imaginings make everything but the warmth of your skin beneath my ear seem distant.

Your arms curling around my waist lowly immediately bring me back to reality. You shift into me with your bent leg out to the side, and to my surprise you pull me between your legs, your chest pressed up to my shoulder blades, and sigh into my neck. I feel my eyes widen at this motion, my heartbeat pounding in my ears, and when your arms come around to wrap the blanket around me I'm pressed even deeper into your soft contour. Our bodies are so close now, and the flapping of wings into the tight knot in my abdomen becomes almost too much to handle. Your legs are all but bare as they cradle me; I rest one of my arms on the length of a strong thigh and drape the other over the arms at my waist, exhaling shakily through the storm in my brain.

It only worsens my condition when you rest your chin against the crook my neck and relax into me.

"H-How's your tea?" I ask, trying to distract myself from the deliciously soft warmth that radiates over me every time you exhale.

"Perfect," you breathe, voice barely a whisper. "Just like always." You accent makes the syllables sound full, and airy, I have to suppress a shudder when of the hands at my waist crawls up my torso and rests at the base of my neck. I wonder if you can feel to quaking in my pulse point.

This is a position far more intimate than usual for us, especially for you. The side of your cheek is pressed to mine; I could turn minimally and brush our lips together, a soft caress to join our wrapped bodies in closeness. Absently I begin tracing feather light circles into your knee with the tip of my index finger. I have to do something. God, from this position there's so much I could do. I part my lips, expecting words, but my throat clenches in the endorphin rush and all I manage is a guilty sounding whimper.

"Sam…I…" you pause, and I hang to your words with bated breath. Please, say something. Say something before I do. Say anything. Your grip tightens all around me and now my back is flush to your front, and I can hardly inhale without gasping through the languid haze crawling over me.

"I'm so glad…I have you…" Oh, god. This can't be happening. Every word you utter makes my stomach warp into itself. I need you. I need to do something. This is my chance. My only chance, I may not ever get another. I need you to know what you mean to me.

I need…

I turn my head towards yours slowly, hesitantly. You perk at my motion , lifting your chin slightly from my shoulder. Gently, to keep you from backing any more, I hook my arm around the back of your head and pull you closer.

"Sam?"

"Shh," I whisper hoarsely, and the last thoughts of hesitation spills out.

I feel your chest heave as I gently caress your lips with my own. It's a short dance that feels as if it lasts forever, a breath of a touch, a hover and connection of silk and soft stone. My breath is caught and mixes quietly with your own, and in this tight haze I can hardly tell if you're responding in some small way or simply stunned into paralysis under my rather meek striations. There is a shock of raw electricity that spills between our lips that I'd never experienced before, a spark that no other kiss of the past, no matter how intense, had ever produced. I pull from you, and I need more.

I arch into your chest and turn my entire body to face yours, kneeling over you and stroking your bottom lip with my thumb. Your eyes are half-lidded and dark, though I can't tell if it's a result of me or your sickness. This split makes me stop suddenly.

Am I…taking advantage of you?

"S…Sam?" Your tone, I've never heard it before and it makes it unreadable. Oh shit, what did I just do?

"Fuck," I hiss, backing away on my knees. "Shit, Lara. I'm sorry."

I'm such an idiot.


	8. Chapter 8

"Sam?" Your voice trembles slightly; your eyes look at me with confusion, and I swear I see a flash of pain within them. "What…What was that?"

Fuck, that nauseating twist in my gut is slowly returning, and a coil of regret and guilt squeezes all of my insides into a dense ball. My hand is clamped over my mouth, as if I could catch the kiss, or take it back. But now it's out.

"I…uhn…," I hardly manage to make a sound through the rapidly forming lump in my throat. Oh, god. Oh, god! What did I just do? I swallow hard, considering frantically that every aspect of our relationship, every moment, every blurred boundary and gentle touch and close embrace…I'd just messed it all up in a heartbeat, and I can't take it back.

I crack another small sound through my teeth, a pathetic little whimper of an apology, and take off clumsily down the ladder to the deck. I'm in a full sprint before I realize I'm even moving. I don't know where I'm going, I just need to get away from you before you tell me something tragic.

I'm sorry Sam, I just don't feel the same-

Shut up! I scream inwardly at the echo of your voice, words you've never said but to my absolute terror I can imagine you saying them, and it tears me to pieces.

Are you mad? How could you do this to us?

"I'm s-sorry," I mutter through my selfish tears to no one. I'm back in the hallway before I realize it, that dark expanse of tunnelway that seems to fold into me as I run, and suddenly I find myself running to your room rather than my own. Your- no, our room. Our room. Have I ruined that too?

I could stop, and turn around, but I don't. I don't even hesitate. My toes catch on the small edge at the base of the doorway and I land on my knees hard. Desperately I slam my open palms into the floor and bark a wet sob.

"Sammie?" I lift my foggy eyes indignantly towards the sudden, masculine voice coming from the bed. Jonah is there, the sheets from your mattress bundled in a wad of fabric in his hands.

"W-What are you d-doing here?" I stutter, wiping my face with the side of my wrist in a haphazard attempt it stop crying. It's a futile, helpless attempt at most.

"I'm changing Lara's sheets- Sammie, what's the matter?" He comes to my side and puts a hand on my shoulder, kneeling beside me.

There is a piece of my mind that's whispering to me, don't tell him what you did. It's embarrassing, it's ridiculous, its stupid and self-centered. But while it hums softly, my heart is screaming at me to say it.

"I…Fuck, Jonah. I just…I did something really dumb and I d-don't know what to do…"

"What is it? Is it Lara?"

I nod, and sniffle into my arm.

"Is she hurt? What happened?" he urges quietly, squeezing my upper arm in a light way.

"N-No…I…" I turn into him and grab onto his chest, balling the red shirt in my fingers, shoving my face into him. "Jonah, I f-fucking kissed her!"

I feel him tense for a moment, then slowly his arms wrap around my shoulders and he whispers. "Oh, Sammie…"

"I d-don't know what's h-happening with me, J-Jonah, I don't even know w-why I did it! God, I feel s-so stupid!" I weep into him loudly.

"Did she…reject you?" His words seem a little awkward, but I push it out of my mind as I consider his question. It brings an unsettling realization.

"W-Well…no…" No, you didn't. I hadn't even given you the chance to say much of anything.

"Then what's the matter?" He sounds confused, and now I'm confused, too.

"I…" I lift my head out of his shirt and touch my chin in foggy contemplation. "I panicked, I g-guess…" Ugh, I'm really good at completely disgusting myself lately. "I r-ran off before she could s-say anything…" I try to imagine it from your point of view for a moment, and the image is quite frankly laughable. I kissed you, barely kissed you, then jumped up, blurted a bunch of nonsense, stumbled off the roof and ran off as fast as I could in the other direction. You were probably still sitting there, dumbfounded. Shit, I don't even know if you can get off the roof without help.

"Sammie, I think you may need to take a biiiig step backwards," he chuckles in a reined manner, rubbing my back with a broad palm.

"B-But…I **kissed** her…" I put so much emphasis on the word that it sounds like a drawl.

"And…that scares you?" He quirks an eyebrow at me.

"Well, it's Lara…" I've made out with people at parties for much less antagonizations; kissing was never really a big deal to me before. But that was…"I guess I'm afraid…of how it made me feel?"

"And how did it make you feel?"

I pause before putting my hands to my face and blushing fervently. "In the moment?" I couldn't hold back a nervous smile upon recalling that overwhelming shock of electricity between our lips. "Good. Really good."

He hums a note in his throat and releases his loose grip on me, helping me to my feet as he rose. "I think you should go talk to her, Sammie."

"But-"

"Ah!" he interrupts. "She needs you right now, remember? You're the one for her." He says it with a certain level of understanding that I hadn't expected from him, and his words set a new dawn in my head. For her? As in…? "I think you are hyping yourself up too much, expecting something negative from her."

"You…you don't think she'll react that way?"

He smiles warmly and scruffs my hair a bit. "How long have you known her?"

"Six…" I nearly have to count on my fingers to recall; I hardly remember a life without you. "No, five years." Which is odd, considering **most **of my life as been spent without you.

"And have you ever known her to be a cruel person?"

You? Cruel? "Ha, she's not cruel enough." I recall your trouble with guys in University. You never had the heart to tell someone to back off. And then I recall your desperate fight on Yamatai, and I lament inwardly. Cruel to enemies, I suppose.

"Are you worried about you both being women?" He makes an odd gesture and smirks in a weird way, making me smile a bit. I studying the question, but immediately dismiss it after I remember that blonde girl in Uni you'd dated for a while.

Amanda, I think her name was. Mousy girl, that one. Tall and thin and pretty; holy shit, I was jealous of her during those months, she shared your interests and you always seemed happy with her. You could talk to her about things I could never understand. She was so much more like you than I was, and that had scared me so much. I thought you might leave me behind.

But then after a time the two of you grew apart in the wake of emotional struggle; she went off to Peru to continue her studies, somewhere called Paraiso, and you guys broke up. A year later I saw something in the local paper about a mine collapse, on one of the dig sites I remembered you telling me she was helping excavate.

Seven Workers and Students Killed on Archeological Dig in Paraiso.

I recognized her name immediately, and rushed to our dorm with it as fast as I possibly could. You were there, but you had your face buried in your studies as usual; you looked to me with a delicate smile and I lost my nerve. You hardly ever read the local post anyway, and television news never interested you much. It would be mentioned briefly on a channel you never watched, maybe acknowledged in an assembly you'd skip in favor of reading the Hamaval over, and you'd be none the wiser.

That was the only secret I've ever kept from you. I've always wondered if I was one of the reasons you stayed at Uni instead of following her abroad. If I wasn't part of your life, would you have died in that place, too?

"No, that's not it. It's just her. Whenever we're close I just feel…better. And safer, even though I know she's…" I choke on the words. "I know she's not okay."

"Oh, Sammie." He rubs the back of his head, smiles, and brings me into a lean with a whisper. "You're in deep."

"I know," I whine miserably, slapping a hand over my eyes and dragging it over my features. Absently, nervously, I begin to fiddle with the silver ring on my index finger. "What should I do?"

"Well, get out there…" He nearly shoves me out the door and I barely avoid tripping again, "And talk. To. Her."

"But, Jonaaahhh, I just made a fool out of myself!"

"You kissed her, right?"

"Yeah…"

"So it's already out there, Sammie. Were you planning on just pretending like it didn't happen?"

"Now, there's an idea-"

"Sam! Go, now!"

"Okay, okay!" I shuffle back down the hallways reluctantly, dragging my feet in protest. I can't go back out there. I can't face you after all that. I turn back in Jonah's direction looking for a way out, but he's leaning against the doorway with a smug grin on his face. I stick my tongue out at him and march into the stairway.

Okay. This doesn't have to be a big deal. Lara, I'm sorry I did that, I'm just scared and confused and that was a complete mistake.

But…what if it wasn't a mistake? The thought of even thinking that it was was more than unpleasant, and felt very wrong. What if…somehow…you'd taken me between your legs and pressed our bodies together the way you did because you felt the same way? I wish you were easier to read; I'd be throwing away a chance, perhaps my last chance…

I steel myself as I enter into the sunlight. You're still on the roof, I can see your tired form curled into a ball from where I stand, and my chest flutters in anxiety and anticipation. Confront it. Don't be a coward. You'd charged head-first into the eyes of death for me and emerged from the other side half-eaten and scarred, but alive. Alive and in pain. You deserve to hear the truth, and nothing less.

I feel a surge of helplessness as my hand reaches for the first of the rungs on the bolted ladder. Don't stop. Don't stop now. Go. Go. My feet make plated sounds as they connect with the roof, one slow step after another, until I'm by your side. You're on your back, sun basking lightly on your face. The dark, sunken look of your eyes and the area around them is deeply troubling.

"You're back…" you hum quietly, your eyes closed still.

"Yeah…" I kneel beside you and resist the urge to pull you into my arms. "Hey, listen. About what happened before…" I take in a lungful of air when you open your eyes, blinking at the bright sun.

"What happened?"

I look at you dumbly. "I…um…" I run a guilty finger over my bottom lip and hesitate.

"Kissed me?" you say in a strange way, a dry but gentle way.

"…Yeah, I did."

"Why?"

"W-Why?"

"Yes," you breathe delicately, propping yourself up on your elbows and hoisting your upper body up to sit.

'Well, because…" A fib crosses my mind, and I have to use every ounce of willpower to resist blurting it out instead. "Because I think I…have…feelings for you?" Holy shit, those words absolutely burned coming out. "After Yamatai- No, before Yamatai, too…" I correct myself. I don't want you to think this is some kind of rescuer/ victim syndrome.

You stay quiet, and it kills me when I see your brow knit tightly and your nose wrinkle in response. Your eyes are glossy, and red, and you're sick, and this is completely and utterly the most selfish, undignified thing I've ever done. "But wait a second!" I exclaim at the motion, frantic to find some way to devalue what I'd said. "It doesn't have to change anything, right? I mean, it's just…it's not even anything! We're still okay, right?" Tell me I'm right.

Tell me I'm right. Say something. "This…"

"No…" your voice is dry and a bit hoarse, like you're holding something back. "It shouldn't change anything, not now, but…" My heart is breaking, I feel my chest constrict and my stomach fall into a bottomless pit.

"Wait! Let's…Let's just forget it, okay?" I chuckle weakly, as if it was all just a big, dumb joke. Forget it. It means nothing. Leave it. Leave it. Please.

"Sam…" You rise shakily to your feet, dizziness apparent, and reach for me. I can't resist you, even now, and our hands meet between us. To my surprise you drag me in closer, closer, until your arms are circled around my shoulders and I'm pressed into you.

"L…Lara?" Water is dripping over my cheeks and I can't explain why. My hands are open against your collarbone and I can feel you shivering beneath my touch.

"Sam, you can't…we…I'm not strong enough…" you voice is so shaky, but I can't tell if you're on the verge of tears or on the verge of death. Your grip on me tightens and you tremble harder with every ounce of applied pressure, energy. "I…I can't do this to you…"

Do what? Say no? Reject me? I clutch onto you in frustration, in anger, in guilt, in pieces. I'm breaking apart. "I'm in love with you, Lara," I sob. "I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry."

"Don't," you rasp desperately. "I can't accept it."

Shit, I feel like I'm drowning. I feel like this is the last time I'll get to hold you, and I'm frantically grasping at the strings that used to be us. Us. You and me. Tell me this isn't the separation of those things. I fucked up. I fucked us up. Forgive me. Please forgive me.

"I love you." The words shock the breath from my lungs, and you say it so quietly that I first I think I've imagined it.

You're squeezing me so close that I can't raise my head, I can't see you. Your head is buried into my shoulder and I can feel your choked breaths against my clavicle, weak and warm and stuttering.

"W-What?" I'm unable to process what you've just said. I'm so unsure of everything now, the haze of regret and disillusion still thick within me.

"I love you…But I can't do this to you…I can't let you give me your heart just so I can break it…"

"Don't say it, Lara." I'm hissing into your hot skin with unintentional hostility.

"If I die-"

"No!" I bark loudly, struggling to fold words over my shuddering sobs. I struggle against your grasp, ripping passed your arms and stepping back hysterically, balling my hands into painful fists at my sides and locking my arms as I tense. "Don't say that, I swear to fucking God!" I'm screaming at you, at the top of my lungs, and I'm sure everyone on deck is probably running in this direction right now, and I don't give a shit.

Your face is so incredibly passive, unchanged by my hysteria, and it only makes me angrier. It's like you've given up your fight; you're dangling off the precipice and I'm the only thing keep you from falling into the darkness. "You have to **fight**! You got us all off that goddamn island, you survived everything those **bastards** threw at you, you fought, and kicked, and thrashed and you **WON**! You fucking won and we got out, because of everything **you** did! And now…**FUCK**!" I clutch my head and make a strangled sound through my teeth. "Now…Everything you did, it's not **fair**! None of this is fucking **FAIR**!" My legs give out underneath the enormous weight of my rage and I fall to my knees in a weeping puddle of my own despair. It's not fair. I clamp my hands over my face. I can't handle this. I can't fucking survive this!

I feel your arms again and I attempt to push them away in a fit, but still you press forward, expression still passive, still soft, still beautiful, and bring me into your chest again.

And I keep sobbing. I weep for both of us, because you no longer have the ability to cry for yourself.


	9. Chapter 9

Forgive the length and the sudden cut-off. I was in the car accident the other day, and I figured I should just put up what I have so far of this chapter. Y'all have waited long enough. PLEASE forgive the delay, I just got out of finals week, so updates should return to normal now.

**CHAPTER 9**

I wake the next night, exhausted with a years worth of tears and pain, because something against my back is uncomfortably cold. I shift and check that the blanket is not exposing it to the air, my sleepy state allowing for very little thought to cross as I irritatedly searched for the source of it. It isn't until I reach a hand behind me and put a flat palm against the strong plane of your shoulder blade do I panic.

I'm leaping out from under the covers in a heartbeat, pulling on the cord to the lamp with near violence and flooding the black cabin with assaulting light. I ignore the burning in my retinas.

You're skin is white now. Not tanned, not peach, not flesh, but stark, milk white. There is a breathful of moments in which my heart stops in anticipation before it's kicked into an adrenaline-induced overload. My hands feel for you desperately, grabbing your arm and pulling you closer to the edge of the bed.

As I force your limp form into the light I notice that a field of purplish-red dots have formed clusters on your chest above your tank top, and the skin that had once burned with a dangerous fever was now cold, far too cold. Icy, stiff.

An arresting sensation freezes the blood in my veins, and the only thing that stops me from completely losing myself is the fact that you're breathing in a noticeable way.

Too fast. You inhale shallowly, as if you are no longer capable of filling your lungs, and exhale a half second later in a perpetual rhythm. I can tell your not getting air, your breaths aren't nearly deep enough…

Too cold. Too fucking cold. My eyes begin to burn.

"Sam?" A femininely deep voice. I whip my head around to find Reyes carrying in a set of clean clothing with a creased browline, arm braced against the door frame. I must look like a panicked deer because she immediately drops the pile in her arms and rushes over to the bed. "What is it?"

"Just-Look at her!" I'm not aware that I'm very literally screaming until she reels back slightly at the pitch so close to her ear. "She's cold, and those spots…And her breathing is complete shit!"

"Sam, you gotta calm down, alright?" She looks me right in the eyes and despite the circumstances, her intense stare is still enough to make me put my gaze to the floor.

Quickly, her palm covers your mouth to measure your breaths, and her other travels to press firmly against your chest. I watch her lips curl slightly as she observed you.

"She's in a rhythm." Before I can react she's threading her fingers together and pumping them against your rib cage with measured violence.

"Rhythm? What does that mean? Why are you doing that?!" I grab at her but she shrugs me off without a word; I notice she's breathing a new number every half-second, counting off as she delivers CPR. "Reyes, answer me!"

She reaches fifteen and promptly spins on her heel, grabbing me by the shoulders and shaking me. "Sam! Listen to me. If we don't even out her heart rate, she's going into TC. I need to do this, okay?"

"T-TC?" I whisper shakily.

"It's a very bad thing! So don't fight me on this!" Reyes goes back to you within seconds, putting her ear to your breast and beginning her straining pumps again. Again she counts out to fifteen and puts her temple on your chest.

"Shit." It's so quiet that it's hardly a word, more of a distressed noise. With sweat beading on her forehead she goes through five more cycles before her arms begin the shake visibly. "Come on…" she grunts into her motions. "Come on, Lara."

Anxious and panicking, I take the side of your face into my hands from the top of the mattress and press my forehead to yours. Come on, Lara. Please.

_Please. _

_Come back._


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

**A few things, first. I caught a medical terminology mistake in the last chapter. Reyes refers to Lara entering TC. What I was referring to was pulseless tachecardia, and should have used the term V-Fib. This is a heart rhythm that can only be broken with a defribulator, and if it is not broken leads to cardiac arrest. Without a hospital this is fatal (thus Reyes performing CPR to re-regulate her heartbeat.) And for those who were interested, I am not a doctor or medical student, I simply have an interest in everything, and thus do very thorough research ^u^ **

"Come on, Lara!" Reyes' calls are slowly becoming louder, fighting the edge of desperation. She's coming up on her thirteenth cycle, pumping against your ribcage with weakening arms and a shot shoulder, and the beads of sweat on her forehead only serve to frighten me further.

The sides of your face are still in my hands, still cold. So cold. Please. Please.

"Lara, open your eyes…" The plea is hardly a choke. "Don't do this…not after…"

My mind collapses until all I can comprehend, all I can sense, is your voice, telling me that you loved me. And that kiss, that raw electricity that shocked every nerve in my body with the most minimal brush.

I remember boarding school, meeting you for the first time and my breath hitching in my throat when confronted with your innocent yet determined beauty. I remember college, trembling in your arms after nights wrecked with bad liquor and poor decisions. I remember you forcing me to study for tests I didn't care about so I wouldn't flunk out. I remember the moment in that night club when you backhanded some asshole across the face for calling me a slut.

I remember falling for you as you walked me around the London Festival, our hands threaded together as not to lose each other, your eyes alight with the hues of the fireworks and your lips radiant with that small smile.

Those were the days, the years in which we consumed one another. Even if we were platonic, we changed each other. We fed on each other's energy. We laughed together, cried together, and everything there was between those points. Friends left, lovers left, family left, but we stayed, always. Always.

You are all I have. You are all of me.

And with you freezing and unresponsive in my arms, I can already feel myself becoming nothing.

Reyes is losing her battle against your heart. "You ain't allowed to give up now, Lara!" she shouts between clenched teeth, and I agree with her angrily. It sounds so selfish, saying that you're not allowed after everything you've been through, but I struggle to care. You can't leave me like this.

You deserve to go home more than any of us.

She puts her ear to your chest, and something inside me tells me to close my eyes. Please. Please.

Please.

"Yes…Yes!" Her exclamation catches me off guard, and my entire soul rises into my throat and fills me. "That's it, girl. Come on." My eyes shoot open and I'm met with the darker woman's mouth pulled into on uncharacteristic smile.

"Is she…?"

"Yeah, she's alive, and her heart's re-regulated." She wipes the perspiration from her forehead with the back of her hand and touches you very gently, in that motherly way that was sure to be instinctive to her now.

I look down to you, to your closed, sunken eyes. "She's…she's still not waking up…"

"Sam…I don't think she has the strength to wake up." I look back to her with a desperation in my features. With an anxious hand she runs fingers from her own hairline to the base of her neck, short dreads bouncing as they were released under the pressure. She's quiet for a moment and exhales loudly.

"We really gotta get her to a hospital," she finally breathes. It's a painfully obvious statement, but for some reason the real impact of it doesn't hit me until now.

"How long?" I mutter. "How long until we reach land?"

"The skipper says we'll hit Okinawa by midday tomorrow." We exchange a gaze that I'd had never expected to share with her, a lingering current of extreme, sympathetic distress.

"Do you think…" I reach for your lax hand and clutch to it, and try to speak around the dense ball in the back of my throat. "D-Do you think she'll make it…?"

For a moment she inhales and opens her mouth as if preparing to speak, but after a laying another gaze over your white, sickly form she purses her lips and makes a deep exhale to the floor.

"I love her."

The words shock me as they leave my mouth. I'm not sure what compels me to vocalize such a thing to Reyes of all people, but suddenly they are all I can think. I can't bring myself to look away from you, and a force beyond my control keeps my hand glued to yours.

Josilin doesn't make a single sound in response, but I can hear her shift her weight from one hip to the other. Her bare arms make a subtle noise while she crosses them over her chest.

"I love her so much…and…" You love me. My eyes burn, and even though it's such a blissfully wonderful thought it's heavily tainted with the black ink of decay. You love me.

We could have a life together.

We could have had a life together.

Just thinking that sentence for the first time sends blunt, heavy pain radiating across my chest in waves. I find myself dwelling on our age, how long my life will be without you there. God, we're still so young. Fresh graduates, looking for our mark, and ultimately looking for each other.

We could have been happy.

More tears, but this time I don't feel pathetic for it. My eyes keep going to the purple dots crowding your chest and neck. I deserve these tears. My love is dying. I deserve to cry until my eyes bleed. It's different now, a harder, sharper pain than before, an evolution of suffering. With the revelation of your feelings for me comes the sense that we are missing out on something blindingly beautiful.

I'm sobbing, and I can hardly believe I have the energy left in me.

"God, it fucking hurts…" I choke. "Reyes…I can't lose her…She…she's all I h-have…"

I whip around to face Reyes from my kneeling position, my hair forming a momentary crown as it flares.

It takes me a moment to realize she's already gone.


	11. Chapter 11

_A/N: For any of you who reviewed or privately messaged me with (some sweet and others rather rude) inquiries regarding the update status of this story, I've started two new jobs and am going to school at the moment, and my girlfriend's birthday is soon and I'm making something very big for her. As such, I've not had the time, nor the means to complete this story in the increments that they were updated earlier on. Just a heads up. Waits will not be this long, but expect chapters to be about one-two weeks apart. _

_Also I post art related to this story on my tumblr: okh-eshivar . tumblr . com  
And I run an ask blog for Lara and Sam: ask-lara-and-sam . tumblr. com_

_And go follow my girlfriend. Cos she's perfect. : fromthetipofhertongue . tumblr. com_

I cover you with blankets and sleep huddled next to you because it's the only thing I can think to do, your body too cold and too weak to fend for itself. It's been six hours since Reyes pulled you back from the brink of death; I never thought I'd think such a thing, but I wish you'd stay unconscious until we got to land.

Instead, you operate in the between space, the little gray line between states of being. You wake, but you are delirious and confused every time. You talk, but never beyond a mutter of no significant meaning. Your eyes open sometimes, but only to stare at the ceiling in an angeringly empty way. If you were lucid enough to understand your situation, I'd think you were waiting impatiently for your own death.

I cling desperately to your side despite how disturbingly frozen you are, and listen to music alone. I tried so many times to wake you with it, but the bud wouldn't stay in your ear and eventually I gave up. In the back of my mind I realize that it is the beginning of our separation, when the pieces of us disconnect in a long, painful way until everything pulls back and snaps suddenly. When you're gone.

My hand clenches tightly around your side, and for the hundredth time in the last hour I will you to wake.

_If you love me, you'll wake up. _

_If you love me, you won't make me go through this alone. _

_If you love me, you won't die one day after admitting your mutual affection. _

Selfish. I know it's ridiculously selfish, and wrong, and arrogant. I know that I sound like a pathetic, sobbing mess, and to even imagine such things in the presence of a woman who suffered pains a thousand times greater than mine seems downright disrespectful. But once again, in this maze of potential loss and panic and ache I don't give a damn.

I kiss your forehead lightly, because I can, because I want to.

You don't respond. I want you back. I want to be with you.

I lay in cool silence for a long while before shifting weakly to the side of the mattress, swinging my legs over the end and standing in a strangled way. I need some air. Absently I wonder if hypnotism is really bullshit, if someone could really will me to forget all of this, all of you, but I realize, as I stumble down that long, lonely hallway, that I'd be losing about five straight years of myself in the process. We've been attached at the hip since boarding school; people didn't even say our names separately anymore. Sam and Lara. Lara and Sam. Do you know where Sam and Lara are? Are Sam and Lara gonna be at the party tonight? It's a strange thought. Were we even two different people anymore? If I lose you, would I really be losing half of myself as well?

I'm tired, and beaten, and on the verge of breaking. The fight feels lost already, my eyes sting with the burden of lost tears. And I feel…

Empty.

I feel nothing.

But heavy.

And spatial.

And extant.

I open the porthole to the deck and push myself into the fading rays of sunlight that radiates from the horizon. On the second level I see Reyes and Jonah chatting over the rail about something, and immediately a surge of anger and embarrassment sizzles out into my chest. Reyes had vanished hours before, during one of my breakdowns, and although part of me could sympathize with the fact that she wasn't really the kind of person who'd feel comfortable watching that, I wanted to punch her right in the face. I needed someone. That someone wasn't her, but it still stung like hell to be left like that.

Normally, I think I would have let it go. Reyes, despite the motherly side of her revealing itself the last few days, still intimidated the shit out of me. But it felt good to feel something, even if it was a completely negative emotion, and a dark part of my mind wanted to see how much more I could push out of myself.

With nervous bubbles in my gut I stormed up the open staircase onto the upper deck and yelled.

"Hey! What gives, Reyes? I actually needed someone there and you ran off!" I spit, crossing my arms over my chest. She looks back over her shoulder in a startled way and turns towards me.

"I went to talk to the skipper," she explains, holding one of her hands up in a halting position in front of her.

That made me freeze up. That, and the fact that she didn't look the slightest bit surprised that I was irrationally releasing on her. "W-what?"

"Look, she isn't getting better. That much is obvious. I went to ask why the hell no one was calling the coast guard to airlift her out of here."

I couldn't believe that hadn't even crossed my mind. "And?"

"Apparently this fishing vessel is unregistered." She sighs and shakes her head, crossing her arms and putting her weight on her left hip. "Which means one, they don't have the mandated hookup to the Japanese coast guard and two, if they were to pick her up and they somehow found out, they'd be jailed for unsanctioned mass fishing. Apparently it's is big deal around here. Regulations and all that nonsense."

"So?" I bite. "What does any of that have to do with Lara?"

"Nothing. But they're watching their own backs right now." She growls under her breath and I can tell she's not happy about it either. "But the skipper said he'd be willing the pull port at their next refueling station to get us to Okinawa faster. We'll be there… soon."

"When?" I motion back in your direction. "Because she's not going to make it much longer." The words are so bitter on my tongue that my lips curl around them tightly.

"Real soon. Within the next hour."

"What? R-Really?" It's a shock, and a relief, but for some reason I'm still primarily upset with this whole situation. I look to the sea and sure enough there is a long, dark line against between the water and the sky. Land.

"He's gonna make sure there's an ambulance waiting to take us inland, but for the same reasons they can't stick around. So we gotta book it off, got it?"

"When were you gonna tell me about all this?"

"I was going down to tell you in a few minutes. You seemed like you needed some sleep anyways." An obvious allusion to my crying from earlier. I mutter under my breath nothing in particular and turn back, ready to return to your side. Jonah follows me off the deck, and as we enter the hall on your level he pulls in next to me.

"We should bring her out, so we can leave as quickly as possible."

I nod in agreement silently and keep my eyes on the ground. That feeling was coming back. The emptiness. I wanted to scream.

Or, I wish I wanted to scream.

"Sammie," I hear him say. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah." It must have been painfully clear that I wasn't.

He stopped my pace with a strong hand to my shoulder. "Samantha."

I blink tightly at the floor and look back at him.

"Talk to me. Don't shut us out, okay? We're all here to help her survive." He is gentle, but firm, and the look in his eyes is still as strong hearted as it was on the island.

"She feels like a corpse," I mumble against my teeth. "And when she wakes up she just stares blankly at the ceiling. Lara…Lara isn't there anymore." A shell. You've shed your outer skin and left it behind with me, like some cruel twist of fate. We're all just vessels, aren't we? Whatever was in that cabin, it didn't feel like you anymore.

"Yes, she is," he says sternly. "She's still there, somewhere. But she needs you to be strong for her."

Strong. I was never really that strong. Not compared to you. I talked big, and wasn't afraid to make a scene, but when it came to inner strength I felt like a newly crushed bug. I hang my head defeatedly as I push the flat of my hand into your door to open it.

_You're awake._ I close my eyes against the glare of the cold steel and pray. _You're awake. You're awake._

I open my eyes.

And despite my knowledge my heart falls deeper into my stomach at the sight of you anyways. Still unmoving. Still near death.

Without a word, or a mutter, Jonah paces to your side and touches your forehead, stroking your tossed bangs out of your eyes and preparing to lift you. You let out this painful, tired whimper as his arms hook under your back and knees.

"_T-time…get…o-out…" _You murmur incoherently at the ceiling as you're carried, eyes rolled open slightly and limbs limp against gravity.

"Hush, little bird. It's going to be okay." His whisper is deep, and full of care, and in my soul I hope you can hear it, but rather than acknowledge him you continue to shiver out strings of words that make no sense. I hold your hand as we walk and brush over your cool, white knuckles with my thumb. Your tank top rides up at your waist with his steps and that marking becomes visible again. It's beginning to turn black now at the center, purple veins reaching out from under the bandages, skin sick with rot, sucking the color from the rest of you.

You're non-reactive to the cool air as we step out in onto the sea sprayed deck. Reyes watches closely, examining you from a distance with a grimace on her lips. Jonah holds onto you closely as we approach.


	12. Chapter 12

_Oy, I'm so sorry guys. Seriously. That was way too long. I really appreciate everyone's patience, I was just really dreading writing this chapter. But the next one is gonna be really fun, so it'll be up fairly quick. _

The vast emptiness in the pit of myself is replaced with a hot flow of hope and urgency as I run alongside Jonah, your limp body draped like thin fabric in his thick arms, down the exit ramp and onto the waiting dock. Just passed the dune I can make out the flashing of red and white lights of an emergency unit, the one the skipper had promised us only an hour ago. He had kept his word, and thank god for it. We're moving quick, Jonah cradles you like a child and Reyes jogs behind us, keeping pace.

"There! The ambulance!" I shout and point to it, squeezing your hand tightly. Just as I call out, I see a sudden flash from somewhere off to our right, a distance away, like light bouncing off a plate of glass. It repeats several times, as if signaling in mores, and ceases. I'd have bothered myself more over it if I hadn't been so aware of how lifeless you felt.

There's a set gurney pulled out in front of the vehicle when we finally make it, heaving for breath between our rushed phrases of explanation. They take one look at you and begin shouting commands at one another, taking you from Jonah's arms and strapping you into the gurney. A push in, and I barely have time to climb in after them before they slam the back doors and speed off onto the interstate.

"What has happened to this girl?" One of them says to me in Japanese, urgent tone thinly veiled.

"She-" Oh shit, where do I fucking start? "A lot, a lot of shit. Um…" I begin shaking violently, the adrenaline of this race with death finally flushing into my system. "Her back! Look at her back! That's the worst!"

As one is hooking an oxygen mask over your face, the other shifts you and gazes heavily into the black hole in your right side.

"It is infection," he states to his partner. "This girl is very septic. We need to flush her with antibiotics." He sets your side down and inspects you with his hands, feeling for internal injury. "Two, no, three fractured ribs. Two broken digits." He's scribbling something on a sheet of paper, peeling your tank from your abdomen and shaking his head. "Four deep lacerations on thoracic and lumbar regions. Shrapnel shards present. Also it looks like there is an exit wound from the puncture on the back here." He touches the charred flesh there. "Looks like an amateur cauterization. Full body skinning."

"Temperature is 34.5. Rising quickly."

"It's going to happen fast! Get the full department ready for emergency surgery!"

"35.2! 35.7! Entering tachycardia!"

We're going so fast I can hardly stay seated without tumbling over. I keep my hands on yours, and they work around it, around me, shouting, clasping grips and stabbing needles ad scribbling on white paper pads. Flurries of abstract motion. Shaking again. More shaking. But that unnatural freeze that soaked beneath your skin is now a heat, burning up, boiling. Such a temperature spike so quickly, and we're so close now to getting you help…Were you giving up now?

One of the machines to my right begins to beep rapidly, deafeningly, like some kind of angry force, and my heart is caught up into itself, in the tentacles of dread, in a spiral of panic. Lara. Lara. My cheeks are wet again.

"Patient is crashing. Engaging the automatic pacer."

"Don't do this," I whisper, lips parted beneath streams of salt water. "Come on Lara. Come on."

"What is her name? Does she have any forms of identification on her?"

"Lara Croft," I croak. "Her name is Lara Croft. Twenty one years old. We…We lost everything in the wreck…"

We lost ourselves in that crash.

"Can you tell us what happened? What was the name of your vessel?" His Japanese is rushed, and I barely catch what he asks.

That name is permanently branded into my memory. "T-The S.S. Endurance."

They freeze up instantaneously, and the only thing that shakes them free of their shock is the angry beeping of the portable heart monitor.

"We…were attacked…" I can't think of a better, believable answer. If I told them everything they'd probably assume we were drug addicts.

"Attacked?"

"It matches these types of injuries."

The tallest man turns to the other and asks, in hushed tones, "Should…Should I call someone?"

The other narrowed his eyes and bit his lips together. "Call everyone."

It takes a long, very long ten minutes before we finally pull into the emergency station at the local hospital. They pull out the gurney in its entirety and strap you down. A team is bursting through the doors in second, completely prepared, white jackets and blue gloves and silver chrome instruments. They crowd you, yelling, and I'm acutely aware that if you were to wake, someone would end up very hurt.

I follow them in, more running, more shouting, more needles. Someone orders for broad spectrum antibiotics, and the word 'septic' is being thrown around so much that its mention draws nausea into my stomach. Doctors form a typhoon, a tornado surrounding the gurney as it's rolled inside, and a collection of nurses egg me with personal questions.

"Does she have any allergies?"

"N-No, or wait. I-I think she might be allergic to penicillin-"

"What about pre-existing medical conditions? Does she have a history of epilepsy? Does she require insulin shots or blood pressure medication?"

"N-no, I don't think so-"

"Were you with her during this endeavor?"

"Yes! Yes, I was."

Before she could ask the next of a laundry rest of questions, someone begins yelling, all too loudly. They are words that crush me from the inside.

"She's crashing! We need a cart! Prep the OR, call in the Cath team!"

"Crashing?" I grab at one of the nurses, but she shakes me off aggressively. "Wait! What hell hell is going on?!" No one answers, but they continue shouting medical jargon at each other, directions and instructions that are as much a foreign language to me as any exotic dialect. They're in the middle of taking scissors to your top when they traverse the doors of the operating room and two men stand firmly in my way. I try to push passed them, but they grab me by the shoulders and keep me at arm's length. The sudden contact makes my blood run cold.

"I'm sorry, we cannot allow you back here."

"What- What's happening? Is she okay?!" I attempt to shove through the center of them again, but my effort is thoroughly in vain. "You said she was crashing!" I cry frustratedly, my hands ball up in fists. "Does that mean she's-"

"Miss, please. We will do everything in our power to help your friend. You were passengers on the research vessel S.S. Endurance, correct? Have you also suffered any kind of injury?"

I'm about to protest when a nurse emerges from the room behind them and leads me with a hand to my back gently away. "You're her friend?"

'Friend'. I'd have to think of a better definition for us at some point. "Yeah. Is she okay? Tell me what's going on, will you?" I grit impatiently, pulling away from her as we enter into the back corner of the emergency room waiting area.

"I will tell you everything I can. It's still very early in our process. Right now I need to know if she has emergency contacts, or any family members that need to be contacted in this manner of event."

My heart falls into my stomach as I cross my arms over my chest and let my eyes fall of the floor passively. "No…"

"No parents? Siblings? Close relatives?"

"No. Her parents died when she was a kid. And she's never talked about family beyond that…I'm actually her only emergency contact. Well, me and…"

Roth.

But he's gone now, too. Christ. Only now am I realizing how truly alone you are in this world.

"There was someone else. But he…he was killed. He was with us on the expedition." I wipe my face haphazardly on the heel of my palm and sniffle inwards.

"Okay, dear. Everything is going to be fine. Just hold on for a bit." She holds a box of Kleenex to me and I take a handful, dabbing my face.

"…Thanks," I mumble quietly, biting my tongue to stem the flow of tears.

"Because of the circumstances of this, I just want to warn you about the…thing you're going to be faced with in the next couple of days." I look to her oddly.

"Things?"

"The Okinawa Perfectural police will want to ask you questions regarding the causalities of the shipwreck. And since the disappearance of your vessel was broadcasted, news stations and representatives will be swarming. We can keep them out for now, but they will be…a bother."

My eyes widen at the statement. I understood and police, but…

"Broadcasted…?"

"Yes, quite widely. Since James Whitman had been on the expedition with you, it was a rather big deal."

"Oh…right. Well, he's…he didn't make it back." That fucking scumbag. Had he made it back, it would have been in pieces.

"Ah…I see…"

"Look, you'll…" I rub the back of my neck awkwardly and ball the Kleenex in my fist. "You'll tell me when I can see her, right?"

Her eyes ease into mine for a moment before she speaks again. "Ms. Croft. She is in very critical condition. And while we will do everything we can-"

"Stop," I interrupt. I shake my head and cut my fingernails into my upper arms. "Whatever you're about to say, I promise you I can't handle hearing it right now. I…I really need to see her. So, I'll be waiting here until then."

She nods politely and turns back to the operating room, leaving the tissues with me. "Help yourself to any of the food and comfort items we have available. Welcome back, Ms. Nishimura."


	13. Chapter 13

_**A/N: If you aren't familiar with Amanda Evert from Tomb Raider Legend and Tomb Raider Underworld, I suggest reading her wiki page, especially if you want to understand this chapter to its fullest extent. **_

_**Also, since I mentioned my girlfriend I think there has been a bit of confusion. I'm female. So to the people who private messaged me saying that I couldn't possibly understand lesbian romance because I'm a man, there you go. You literally could not have been more off-base. **_

_I remember that blonde girl in Uni you'd dated for a while._

_Amanda, I think her name was. Mousy girl, that one. Tall and thin and pretty; holy shit, I was jealous of her during those months, she shared your interests and you always seemed happy with her. You could talk to her about things I could never understand. She was so much more like you than I was, and that had scared me so much. I thought you might leave me behind._

_But then after a time the two of you grew apart in the wake of emotional struggle; she went off to Peru to continue her studies, somewhere called Paraiso, and you guys broke up. A year later I saw something in the local paper about a mine collapse, on one of the dig sites I remembered you telling me she was helping excavate._

_Seven Workers and Students Killed on Archeological Dig in Paraiso._

_I recognized her name immediately, and rushed to our dorm with it as fast as I possibly could. You were there, but you had your face buried in your studies as usual; you looked to me with a delicate smile and I lost my nerve. You hardly ever read the local post anyway, and television news never interested you much. It would be mentioned briefly on a channel you never watched, maybe acknowledged in an assembly you'd skip in favor of reading the Havamal over, and you'd be none the wiser._

_That was the only secret I've ever kept from you._

_**-Chapter 8**_

Three days.

Two deaths.

Two times your heart has stopped beating. At least that is how I understand it. How my mind is clinging to the existence of renewed life. They say they don't have the means to restart a dead heart, only a failing heart. An out of rhythm heart, flailing to recover. But you were dead. Or at least, the equivalent of it.

I think you've been dead longer than I want to admit.

Two times. They say you might have brain damage.

I feel it in my chest, a squeezing, twisting compression. A starvation of something vital. I count the intravenous drops as they tick away in the bag, I count the milligrams of broad spectrum antibiotics entering your bloodstream. I count the seconds between your breaths, and the hours between your tiny movements. I count your bruises, so many you still look at if you're covered in dirt and blood, even though you've been scrubbed clean. I wonder how much of that dirt managed to sink its way behind your eyes, into your ears, into your brain. I wonder if you can still hear them like I can sometimes.

I count your eyelashes, and remember the ghost of their touch against my skin. I count the number of times we've brushed against each other, now and in the past, brushed against those weak lined boundaries that were there, but weren't there, that remained gated even after our confessions, that halted us at that gray area, that point of no return.

I count my tears.

I count my apologies.

On the second day Reyes and Jonah sit with me at your side. They force me to shower, to eat and drink, even though everything that slips down my throat is halted by the lump of repressed agony there. I feel sick, always. Weak and tired and sick.

The monitor ticks. A slow rhythm. One tick. The island. Two ticks. The Sun Queen. Three ticks. The Solarii. Four ticks. Mathias. Five ticks. Alex. Six ticks. Roth. Yamatai, Himiko, Solarii, Mathias, Alex, Roth, Yamatai, Himiko, Solarii, Mathias, Alex, Roth.

Survival. Possession. Death. Betrayal. Sacrifice. Loss. One, two, three, four ticks, five ticks, six ticks.

The storms, the rot, the bodies, the rain, the snow, the blackening of flesh, the blackening of the sky, five, six, the wolves, the cries of the enemy, the fire, the ice, three, four, the look in your eyes before the bow string snaps forward. The breaking of bone and mind and self and spirit. One, two, three, four.

One, two, three.

Two.

Three.

One.

Two…

Three knocks.

I ignore it.

Three knocks.

Slowly, I pick my head up from off of your hand, the hand I've cradled since we arrived, since they let me see you, and look at the wooden door separating us from the world.

Two knocks.

Nurses don't knock. Doctors don't knock. Jonah and Reyes are gone.

I am quiet, and whoever is rapping at the door pauses, hesitates, before twisting the handle and pushing at it very, very slowly.

My breath catches. It takes me only a moment to remember her, that face. That platinum blonde hair. But it isn't blonde anymore, it's white. Stark white, and her clothes are black. Another tick. Seven. Eight.

"...Amanda…?" My voice is barely a croak. It's impossible. Amanda is dead. She died on her expedition to Paraiso when we were still in college. Was I hallucinating now? Was I that far gone?

"Hello, Samantha." Her voice is deeper, harder than I remember it. Her tone is like the edge of a blade. I feel my brow crease heavily under her blue-eyed gaze.

"What…" I stutter weakly, rubbing at my tired eyes with the heel of my palm. "How…How are you here?"

"By the look of you," she says smoothly, crossing her arms over her chest. "…I very well might not be." Her gaze runs over your limp and bandaged body, lingering for seconds I don't manage to count. Slowly, her arms fall back to her side and she paces closer, closer, and leans over you, placing a pale hand over your cheek. You remain still under her touch, and she remains silent.

"So…you're alive?"

The ghost chuckles coldly. "Yes," she hisses. "Something like that."

"But the news, the papers said-"

"I know what they said," she snaps, catching me off guard. She removes her hand and stands straight with her shoulders back, twisting her long, gloved fingers around the stone of her necklace. "I know what they said."

"How did you find us?"

"Intuition." I grimace at the vague reply. "Are you kidding me? The story's all over the news. They've got pictures of your arrival plastered on every station."

My expression tightens at her words. Those flashes I saw before…I'd forgotten all about them. Those were cameras?

"I came to see her." Her eyes soften as they travel over you again, studying, soaking in. "The one who betrayed me."

"Betrayed?" I search my mind for some explanation to her words, though it's in vain. "What are you talking about?" I shake my head, flustered. "How are you even here?!" My upset state is becoming painfully obvious. Part of me wishes you were awake, that you could defend yourself. I was never good at recovering was I was backed into a corner.

She scoffs harshly and avoids my gaze, brushing me off.

"You're the one who left," I bite suddenly, unsuspecting of my own words. "She cried about that a lot, you know. You didn't even say goodbye." I remember that time, those tears. And I absolutely hated Amanda for doing that to you.

"It really isn't any of your business, Samantha, to be brutally frank." Her words stung. "I'm not here for you."

I rise out of my chair and step in her way when she tries to get close to you again. "Don't touch her."

Her eyes ease into mine dangerously. Something is seriously wrong with this situation. With her. She's…something is off. Why was she dressed in so much black? She never dressed like that in college. She steps into my space, and I only manage to lean against the waist-high edge of your bed trying to retreat backwards. A sudden protective urge shoots up and out from my spine as she attempts to push me aside.

"Move."

"No," I say steadfastly. "Not until you tell me how and why you're here."

Another tick. And another. And another. There is a stark silence between us that only works to build to near crushing pressure of this moment.

"There was speculation that she'd died before she had even gotten to the hospital," she murmurs after a long while. "I needed to see for myself." She gives me a hard, defined stare. "It was more than she did for me."

Oh, shit.

"Even after the news got out about what happened in Peru, she didn't even make an effort to-"

"Is that what this is about? That she didn't fly to another continent to see if you were okay?"

"I was declared dead!" She shouts. "The least she could have done was-"

"Wait." I hold up my hands in front of me in a halting gesture. The motion only seems to anger her more.

"Don't tell me to-"

"It wasn't her fault."

The phrase makes her stop in her tracks.

"What did you say?"

I swallow roughly and thank whatever god there is, Sun Queen or not, that you aren't awake to hear this devil of a confession.

"I…" I pause, inhaling deeply. "I hid it from her."


	14. Chapter 14

_A/N: More soon. Sorry for the awful delay. I'll get back to it, I promise. _

_Ask-Lara-and-Sam (tumblr) is following this continuity loosely. If you're interested in Amanda, she be joining them soon._

"You…what?" Amanda's entire body straightens and tightens around the words, her tone venomous and tense.

"I…" The words strangle me, and I have to choke the confession out. "I hid it from her, the whole thing. Her…She had just found out her parents were declared dead and-"

"Wait," she grimaces, holding her holds open in front of her. I nearly miss the small chuckle that crawls out from between her lips.

"I just…hid the papers and didn't let her watch the news for a while…she was going through a lot already! I-I couldn't let her deal with-"

She barks a ragged laugh and bends over, putting her hands of her knees for a moment before looking back and me with unreadable blue eyes. "You lied to her? Christ, Samantha, and here I thought you were a piece of shit."

The second half of the statement was absolutely saturated with sarcasm. Before I can even wrap my head around what she had just said, her lips were moving again.

"You know, I never said anything to you before, but goddamn. You really know how to screw people over, don't you?"

"H-Huh?" I stutter dumbly, confused by her reaction.

She pinches the narrow bridge of her nose and scoffs. "I should have guessed it was you. Lara's absent sometimes but she's not a horrible excuse of a human being."

"Hey, listen-" I start, anger over her unnecessary comments near boiling.

"Just be quiet, Samantha," she grimaces. "Just sit down and continue being a consistent problem for everyone around you."

Her words spear me right through the chest.

I can't even find it within myself to speak. First, Yamatai. Then, Lara's verging on death. Now, a ghost is telling me I'm a shitty person?

I grit my teeth tightly and swallow my rageful confusion. The large window on the west of the room is sweating with the humidity; I turn my head to watch the beads roll down the length of it, counting again.

She moves towards you again, and again I block her path. "I will move you," she hisses under her breath.

"Do you know how much shit I've been through the last two weeks? I'm not scared of you." I glare at her from under my fringe and brace myself against the railing of your bed.

Her frosted blue eyes move from me, to you, to the clock in the corner. 7:14 pm. She blinks twice, inhales slowly, and touches the stone around her neck again. Her lips move, but privately, as she whispers something to herself.

"I came here to see for myself. A shipwreck. A shipwreck will drown you, and yet, she's covered in bruises and breaks. That doesn't make sense."

"It wasn't just the shipwreck," I mumble. "A lot of shit went down once we washed up on Yamatai."

I expect Amanda to question, or to maybe even laugh at my claiming. But her face remains largely unchanged save for a slight lean to the side. Instead, she continues her verbal assault.

"You look fine enough to me. Why aren't you dead?"

"Lara protected me."

"And thus, she ended up like this."

"Stop blaming this on me!" I do enough of it. It is my fault, but goddamnit, this woman doesn't get to tell me that! "We were attacked, and I…I was kidnapped! I didn't ask her to-"

_The radio. The sound of her voice. _

"I…" I did ask her to help. I begged her for it. I remember that hot, seizing sensation of dread that drowned my senses there, and anticipation of impending death…I told her to come for me. My eyes fall onto the tiled linoleum floor as I gather my own guilt. Crying again. God, I make myself sick.

It's silent between me, and the ghost, for a long time.

"I'll be here for three days," she whispers lowly. "Pray she doesn't wake up. If she does, I'm telling her everything. Everything you've lied about, and everything it's caused. Goodnight, Samantha."

With that, the white haired woman casts a last long gaze to you, before turning on her heel and leaving. The door clicks solidly behind her.

My eyes don't move to follow her. Instead, I'm fixated on a small brown stain on the white floor between my feet. I lied. Amanda is here. Amanda isn't dead. Amanda is alive. Amanda is here. Amanda is here. I lied to Lara. She's going to tell her everything. I couldn't have anticipated this. I was trying to help her.

I recall how she acted when that slip of paper came in the mail. Stark white, indifferent, impassive. She became like that piece of paper for weeks afterwards. She didn't speak to anyone. She'd spend nights, nights, days, whole half weeks in the university library, nose in books, in other places. In Egypt, in Madagascar, in Machu Pichu, Spain, Italy, Pangaea, Ancient Greece. She got thin. So thin. Weak. Tired. All of her assignments were fifty pages long each; the professors baffled on how she could accomplish so much in so little time. They attempted praise, and she turned away with blank eyes.

I couldn't watch it. She pushed me, everyone away. She curled so deep into herself that she could only see what she read. I hid the papers. She stayed in the library. I couldn't let it get worse. Worse? Could it have? She would have starved herself. She would have passed out in the shower or died of dehydration. Or something, right? If she had known…

It took my snapping to get her to open again. It took a physical fight between us. In the back of my mind I know had that fight happened now, she'd have killed me.

I take in a halting, ugly breath and turn towards you, kneeling down on the floor and stroking your hair back. Your skin is dirty with heavy bruises from when Mathias tried to torch me. When four men beat you within an inch of consciousness for the deaths of their brothers at your hand. Or was it my hand?

I can't apologize anymore.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

"Well?" A harsh voice, bodiless in the dark. Amanda shivers slightly as the sound of it before straightening her spine and spitting back.

"Well, what?"

"What did you find?"

She hesitates before responding, mind still within the happenings of her time at the hospital. A weak, echoing ghost of wind passes from behind her, the night shrouding the tiny details of her surroundings. "None of your goddamn business."

"She's alive, isn't she?" She could hear to haughtiness of the speaker's lips turning up in a self-righteous grin.

"…Yeah, she's alive."

"I told you she would be, didn't I?"

Amanda rubs the stone around her neck tentatively, brow knit and eyes focused steadfastly to the ground.

"Samantha was there."

"Of course she was."

"She's in love with her." The words stick uncomfortably in her throat.

"Of course she is." The white haired girl turns to the darkness and scans for a sight of the whispering voice, shrouded in shadows. "You already knew that."

"It was just a suspicion before this. Now…it explains a lot." She hears the languid sound of leather gesticulating in the blackness. "But that doesn't matter. She's alive. But she…she isn't at fault. It was Samantha the entire time, hiding and tricking…or at least that's what she claims."

"Silly little mouse." A smooth, mocking crackle of laughter. Amanda grit her teeth at the impassive response and closed her fingers around the pendant. "Lies. She loves her. I wonder if she could sense your intentions. Little mouse, scrambling for the missing pieces…"

"Be quiet," Amanda snaps at the shadows. Her ears ring as her beast gnaws inside her ears. _Kill her now. You don't need her. _The stone heats in her grip. "Just let me think." Her original plan, she hadn't felt guilty because of what she had thought Lara had done. But now, the view was skewed again. She only had three days.

"Three days before your window is closed. Closed for another fifty years…You'll be old and withered if even alive by the next cycle."

"I know," she snapped.

"I need the Scion to show you the path."

"I know, you witch."

"Silly mouse. Another malicious cackle. "Call a God a witch, and you'll lose your tongue."

"Fuck you, Natla." Her teeth bite around the God-Queen's name, and the stone bursts into cold flames in response, hissing like some wild cat. Her eyes cloud into the orange color, emanating, aluminous in the dark. "I can end you!"

"But you won't. You need me." The white haired girl bites her bottom lip, brow quivering anxiously at the bold response.

"I won't need you forever," she rebuts weakily.

"Perhaps."

The woman, more of a girl than a woman still, after two years of inhabiting the space between spaces, dug her nails into her upper arm and pondered on the instructions the being before her had given.

"All I need is the Scion. That's what you said, isn't it?" Her eyes are sealed on the rock beneath her feet as she growls the words.

"The Scion," the shadows hiss, "And someone who can interpret it."

"Lara can interpret it."

"Perhaps."

"I don't even need you!"

"Perhaps."

She curses, to the God-Queen's amusement, and runs her long fingers through her layered hair. For a moment she longed for the simplicity of life before, when God-Queens were just distant fairytales and Atlantis was a hyperbole for something too unbelievable to be real. For a moment, she wondered if Avalon should stay distant.

No. Avalon was the only place between places that she wished to go, and these three days would be her only frame to get what she needed from Lara, before she was strong or lucid enough to ask questions.

She had it, her piece. Wearing it around her neck like jewelry… She was never purposely destructive, mused Amanda. She wondered how much the oil from her skin had damaged it so far. Surely not beyond repair…

She isn't quick enough to halt the memory of the softness of Lara's skin from crowding her uncomfortably. Seeing her in the hospital, hooked up to machines and covered in so many tapes and wire that she looked like someone's sloppy excuse for a homemade marionette, flesh black with bruises and limbs limp.

Amanda grits her teeth and bites the inside of her cheek to stem the nostalgia before turning to the blackness again. Lara reminded her of who she was before.

"You're still that person." A razor smile cuts through the shadows. "You're just better at lying to yourself, now. Even weaker than before. Silly girl."

With a burst of red fire she shouts into the abyss, blue eyes aflame with white hot light. The stone vibrates erratically between her fingertips. She intends to say something perhaps remotely coherant, but instead rumbles an inhuman growl and scowls, nose drawn up and brow furrowed. "You know NOTHING of me!"

With the sudden emission of unnatural light the shadows retreat for no longer than a handful of seconds, revealing a tall, thin figure in the recesses of the rock. A female, with long arms ending in a solid block that resembled steel but writhed at the surface, like it seethed with maggots or flies. The block encased her hands and extended like a spider's web into the bedrock all around her, anchoring her in place solidly.

"I can keep you like that forever," Amanda snarls frustratedly. "That binding is made of-"

"The Weave. I am familiar," Natla drawls in an irritatingly bored manner. "So silly, using a living weapon like a tool…Just like that stone. It's alive, too. I can hear it whispering. How many times this week has it told you to slit your own throat?"

"I'm leaving," Amanda announces suddenly, turning on her heel and tightening her fists at her sides. "You'll get your goddamn Scion."

Natla smirks and looks to the being encasing her hands. "I know."

I'm tapping the glass face of a vending machine in the hospital hallway when that white haired ghost passes me again.

"Samantha," she acknowledges with a controlled level of malice in her tone.

"She's still out," I say immediately, staring at the bag of air pop chips that refuses to fall into the slot, clinging to the glass as if a deathtrap awaited below.

"So I assumed," she notes back, nose turned upward. "Otherwise you'd be too busy to abuse that poor machine."

I guess one thing I really appreciate about Amanda is her complete and utter lack of a poker face. Lara was always somewhat hard to read; she could keep a neutral energy in even the most extreme situations. Amanda, Christ. She practically emoted everything she felt at any given moment.

"Yeah," I mumble, shamefully without retort. "Whatever."

She scoffs, and continues her trek towards your room. I watch her back recede and disappear into the elevator, and the overwhelming urge to book up the stairs and get to you before she does nearly sends me flying.

I lightly hit the glass with my forehead, wishing I could just knock myself out and wake up from this nightmare. Sometimes that worked, falling asleep in your dreams in order to wake yourself up in real life. I used to do that when I was little.

The bag falls. I can't be around when she tells you, if you wake. I can't be around for that.

I stare at the latch door at the bottom of the machine. It reminds me of reaching into the blinding darkness on Yamatai and hoping what I grabbed next was a weapon and not a live snake, or a wolf's mouth.

I walk away from the machine and leave the bag.

Upstairs, the metal of the horizontal doorknob cools my fingers. My breath is uneven as I attempt to prepare myself for crossing the threshold, in case you're sitting up on the patient bed and your face is contorted with confusion and grief. She doesn't know what you've been through, she doesn't know that you can't handle this.

I inhale, and hold the breath in as I click the knob and push the door open.

I enter just as Amanda withdraws from you, reeling back a few steps and looking at me with gaped eyes.

No poker face whatsoever.

"What the hell are you doing?" I accuse, surely attracting the attention of the neighboring staff. I approach you swiftly and inspect your condition, though it's unchanged from before. Still asleep, thankfully. "What are you doing?" I repeat, looking her dead in the eye.

She scoffs uncomfortably and crosses her arms over her chest. "I was just checking her. The stitches on her shoulder popped."

I narrow my eyes at her, knowing that it was an impossibility if she wasn't moving around.

"If you don't believe me, check for yourself," she snips, turning her gaze away from me. With no real expectation to find anything out of order, I scan your left shoulder.

The stitches are popped. But…

"What the hell are you doing to her in here, huh?" Another scoff.

"I didn't do this!" I snap, gripping the metal protection bar at the corner of the bed.

"Well, she sure as hell didn't."

The bleeding is severe enough to get me out of the room for a second to grab a nurse out of the hallway. Just as the two of us are entering, Amanda pushes out and storms passed us, headed for the elevator again. Had I not been getting help, I surely would have chased after her.

As the elevator doors close in front of her, Amanda slips the small razor blade back into her pocket and clutches the green pendant tightly, Lara's brown cord still tied at the top of it.


End file.
